72  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

eyes  curiously  upon  it,  but  said  nothing.     She  con- 
tinued— 

"But  God  be  praised,  the  voice  of  my  heart  at 
length  spoke  audibly  to  my  mind.  I  repented  me,  in 
season,  of  the  terrible  thought.  I  thrust  the  deadly 
purpose  from  my  soul.  I  flung  the  poisoned  liquid 
from  my  hands  almost  as  soon  as  I  had  mixed  it.  I 
hurried  to  yonder  window,  and  emptied  the  bottle  into 
the  garden.  Then,  beside  this  couch,  I  threw  myself 
upon  my  knees,  and  implored  the  blessed  Virgin  for 
succor  to  banish  all  such  feelings  from  my  breast.  I 
found  the  requisite  strength  in  prayer.  Never  again 
did  I  harbor  a  sinful  purpose  against  him.  Never  did 
a  hair  of  his  head  come  to  harm  through  me." 

"  Then  what  have  you  to  fear,  dear  Marie ;  and 
with  what,  above  all,  can  your  husband  now  reproach 
you  ?" 

"  Alas!  dear  Frederick,  who  shall  say  when  he  is 
received  to  mercy — when  he  is  acquitted  of  his  guilt 
— and  when  his  penance  shall  suffice  for  atonement  ?" 

"  Marie,  this  argument  is  not  your  own  ?" 

"  I  confess  it.  It  is  the  suggestion  of  Father 
Paulo." 

Brandon  smiled  slightly,  quietly  remarking — 

"It  struck  me  as  coming  from  a  theologian." 

She  proceeded — 

"  But  it  was  the  assurance  of  Col.  de  Berniere, 
himself,  that  other  sacrifices  were  required  at  my 
hands  before  my  atonement  could  be  complete  !  This 
is  the  decree  which  is  brought,  referring  to  the  awful 
crime  which  I  meditated  against  him.  For  this,  it  is 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  73 

required  that  I  should  deny  you  now — deny  myself — 
and  rather  shroud  myself  in  a  convent,  devoted  to 
God,  than  to  think  of  any  other  human  love !" 

"  Ha  !  Impossible  !  How  know  you,  Marie,  that 
this  Egyptian  was  a  spectre — that  he  was — ?" 

"  Alas,  Frederick !  did  he  not  show  me  those  awful 
features,  but  too  well  remembered,  at  once  of  death 
and  life  ? — features  known  too  soon,  and  feared  too 
long,  to  be  easily  forgotten  ?  Besides,  Frederick,  did 
he  not  unveil  to  me  my  own  terrible  secret — the 
meditated  crime,  which  was  to  precipitate  him  from 
life  to  judgment,  and  which  my  lips  had  never  before 
confided  to  any  mortal  keeping?" 

She  paused,  and  sank  back  upon  the  couch  ex- 
hausted. Brandon  again  rose  from  his  seat  and  paced 
the  apartment  in  silence. 

"  You  are  sure,  Marie,"  after  a  pause,  "  that  you 
never  once  breathed  this  secret  to  any  ear  ?" 

"  Oh,  sure  !  Oh,  sure  !  It  was  too  terrible ! 
And  now — " 

Brandon  approached  and  whispered  to  her.  She 
answered  quickly — 

"  Ah !  that  was  sin  upon  sin!  I  reserved  that  from 
all  the  rest." 

She  would  have  continued,  but  he  arrested  her. 

"  No  more  on  this  point,  Marie  ;  I  have  a  reason 
for  it." 

She  remained  silent,  and  he  continued  to  pace  the 

floor ;  his  eye  seeming  to  wander  about  the  chamber 

in  a  manner  which  at  length  struck  the  attention  of 

Marie  de  Berniere,  and  filled  her  with  new  anxieties. 

7 


OP  THE 
[IYSE3ITY 
OF 


(7 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


THE  MAROON ; 


LEGEND    OF   THE    CARIBBEES, 


AND 


OTHER  TALES. 


BY  W.  GILMOKE  SIMMS, 

Author  of  "  The  Yemassee."  "  Guy  Elvers,"  '•  Wood  Craft,"  Ac.  &c.  Ac. 


PHILADELPHIA  : 
LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO. 

1855. 


Entered,  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 

LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO., 

In  the  Office  of  the  Clerk  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  iu  and  for 
the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


. 

; 

• 


CONTENTS. 


MARIE  DE  BERNIERE,     .        .        .        .        .        .  .13 

THE  MAROON,           ....  190 

v 

MAIZE  IN  MILK,       .  320 


MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  FRIENDS — FIRST  VISIT  TO  THE  CRESCENT  CITY. 

IT  was  in  the  winter  of (it  does  not  matter  about 

the  year)  that  I  made  my  first  visit  to  the  Crescent 
City,  as  New  Orleans  has  been  fancifully  and  felici- 
tously called.  It  was  not  then  the  wondrous  business 
metropolis  that  we  now  behold  it;  but  sufficiently 
stately,  magnificent,  and  populous,  even  then,  to  turn 
the  head  of  a  simple  backwoodsman  like  myself. 
Until  that  period,  I  had  never  beheld  a  city  deserv- 
ing of  the  name — had  never,  in  fact,  been  much  be- 
yond the  little  village,  in  West  Tennessee,  which 
constituted  the  nearest  market-town  to  my  father's 
plantation.  In  brief,  I  was  but  a  humble  rustic, 
without  any  of  the  advantages  of  travel,  and  but  few 
of  education.  Thus  ignorant,  at  eighteen  years  of 
age,  I  descended  the  Mississippi  to  the  queen  of  cities, 
seated  at  its  mouth.  I  had  for  a  companion,  on  this 
expedition,  a  young  friend,  something  older  than  my- 
2 


14  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

self,  however,  who,  besides,  had  enjoyed  a  much 
larger  experience.  Frederick  Brandon  was  a  Ten- 
nessean  also.  He  had  seen  something  of  our  Ameri- 
can world — had  been  once  among  the  Eastern  States 
and  cities,  and  had  passed  more  than  once  before 
over  the  route  which  we  now  pursued.  He  knew 
every  headland,  every  plantation,  and,  as  it  seemed 
to  me,  every  person  along  the  river.  He  was  about 
five  years  my  senior,  and  had  been  better  taught  than 
myself  in  almost  every  possible  respect.  I  necessa- 
rily deferred  to  him;  I  was  pleased  and  proud  to  do 
so.  I  had  every  confidence  in  his  affection,  and  his 
superior  knowledge  and  judgment,  and  felt  that  he 
could  enlighten  me  on  a  thousand  subjects,  of  which 
my  information  was  distressingly  small.  He  was  the 
person  to  do  so  without  mortifying  my  self-esteem, 
having  as  little  vanity  and  arrogance  as  I  ever  met 
in  any  person  whose  claims  were  so  considerable.  To 
him,  New  Orleans  was  no  novelty,  though  always  a 
great  attraction.  He  had  a  sister  who  had  been  mar- 
ried some  seven  years  before  to  a  wealthy  Creole  of 
the  city,  and  frequent  visits,  and  an  occasional  resi- 
dence with  her,  had  made  all  its  places  familiar.  He 
was  the  man,  over  all  others,  to  spy  out  all  the  secrets 
and  explore  all  the  haunts  of  a  great  metropolis.  He 
possessed  a  lively  curiosity,  with  an  unexcitable  tem- 
perament— a  rather  rare  combination — and  was  prompt 
and  active  always,  without  showing  either  eagerness 
or  hurry.  His  nerves  seemed  to  be  wrought  of  steel. 
Sternly  resolute,  even  as  a  gladiator,  he  was  yet  not 
easily  ruffled.  A  man  of  great  muscular  power,  he 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  15 

was  yet  slow  to  anger,  and  preferred  always,  where 
this  was  possible,  to  excuse  or  to  escape  annoyance, 
rather  than,  with  unnecessary  haste,  to  construe  it 
into  an  impertinence,  which  no  person  was  more  ready 
to  resent.  With  this  temperament,  at  once  cool  and 
curious,  New  Orleans  had  few  mysteries  which  he  had 
not  contrived  to  penetrate.  Its  walks  and  cafes,  its 
theatres  and  hells — for  at  this  period  the  Crescent 
City  could  boast  of  quite  a  number  of  licensed  gaming 
establishments  of  the  most  gigantic  dimensions — were 
all  familiar  to  his  footsteps.  He  seemed  everywhere 
to  carry  with  him  that  spell  of  character,  which  is  an 
open  sesame,  throwing  wide  to  the  seeker  every  avenue 
to  the  most  secret  recesses  of  social  morals  and  of 
the  practices  which  mostly  tend  to  lay  bare,  and  ren- 
der active  the  secret  susceptibilities  and  propensi- 
ties of  the  erring  nature.  Not  that  he  himself  was 
either  dissipated  or  vicious.  On  the  contrary,  he 
never  played,  and  was  singularly  temperate  in  all  his 
indulgences.  I  look  back  after  a  lapse  of  near  thirty 
years  upon  his  character,  as  I  knew  it,  with  almost 
the  same  degree  of  admiration  now,  which  I  felt  for 
him  at  first.  His  powers  of  caution,  of  circumspection 
rather,  of  endurance,  resistance,  and  subjectivity,  were 
indeed  wonderful ;  and  it  is  to  their  influence  I 
owe  it,  that  I  so  soon  learned  to  navigate  the  myste- 
rious avenues,  and  penetrate  the  doubtful  abodes  of 
the  great  city,  without  suffering  from  its  snares  and 
pitfalls.  I  could  tell  some  queer  stories  about  our 
desultory  wanderings  and  strange  discoveries — but 
these  may  serve  a  turn  hereafter.  Let  it  answer  now, 


16  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

that,  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks,  I  had  acquired 
such  a  perfect  carte  du  pays  of  the  municipal  and 
social  world  into  which  I  had  thus,  for  the  first  time, 
penetrated,  that  I  too  might  have  taken  up  the  busi- 
ness of  the  cicerone,  in  the  goodly  city,  without  greatly 
discrediting  my  master. 


CHAPTER    II. 

SOCIETY  IN  NEW  ORLEANS — NEW  PARTIES. 

THROUGH  Brandon's  sister,  Madame  de  Chateau- 
neuve,  I  obtained  my  entree  to  society.  By  this  word 
society,  however,  must  be  understood  that  only  of  the 
Creole  or  native  population  at  that  early  day  in  New 
Orleans,  when  the  city  numbered  some  thirty-five 
thousand  people  only.  Scarcely  any  other  social 
world  was  recognized.  The  Anglo-American  popula- 
tion were  neither  sufficiently  numerous,  nor  in  suffi- 
ciently good  repute,  to  form  an  extensive  or  an  ample 
community  of  their  own.  The  Gallic- American  cir- 
cles were  not  easily  accessible.  They  were  composed 
of  a  proud  aristocratic  people,  possessed  of  an  equal 
share  of  jealousies  and  refinements.  They  regarded 
the  Anglo-Americans  as  mere  intruders — adventurers 
by  no  means  representing  the  better  classes  of  their 
people — traders  equally  unpolished  and  reckless,  hav- 
ing no  aims  that  did  not  lie  within  the  narrow  compass 
of  the  sovereign  dollar  !  They  despised  them  accord- 
ingly ;  and  soon  learned  to  detest,  even  as  cordially 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  17 

as  they  despised,  when  they  found  these  adventurers, 
as  competitors,  in  trade,  unrestrained  by  the  conven- 
tions of  a  customary  society,  undiverted  from  the  one 
purpose  by  any  sense  of  grace  and  luxury,  and  whose 
superior  energies — the  result,  in  some  measure,  of 
their  deficient  refinements  and  inferior  tastes — were 
rapidly  undermining  their  prosperity,  and  wresting 
from  them  hourly  the  profits  of  a  trade  which  the 
Creole  had  rather  carried  on  as  an  amateur  than  as 
a  professor. 

It  would  not,  I  think,  be  easy  to  understand,  at 
this  latter  day — now  that  everything  is  somewhat  al- 
tered in  these  respects — the  wholesale  aversion  with 
which  the  natives  of  Louisiana,  at  that  period,  regard- 
ed the  strange  population.  They  made  some  distinc- 
tion, it  is  true,  between  members  of  the  same  race, 
engaged  in  agriculture,  and  those  employed  in  trade, 
which  were  greatly  favorable  to  the  former  class. 
Thus,  as  I  was  the  son  of  a  planter,  and  destined  to 
become  a  planter  myself,  I  was  necessarily  recognized 
as  a  gentleman — though  still  after  the  Anglo-Saxon 
formulae.  It  did  not  matter  that  my  planting  interest 
was  a  petty  one.  It  was  quite  sufficient  that  its 
tendencies  were  recognized  as  calculated  to  raise  the 
social  nature,  and  elevate  the  tastes  of  the  individual 
to  a  rank  very  far  superior  to  those  which  were  usually 
ascribed  to  trade. 

In  consequence  of  this  distinction,  my  social  posi- 
tion was  freed  from  the  usual  disabilities  of  my  race 
in  New  Orleans,  and  Madame  de  Chateauneuve  kindly 
achieved  the  rest.  She  found  for  me  a  sufficient  pass- 

2* 


18  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

port.  Under  her  wing,  I  went  the  visiting  rounds, 
and  became  incorporated  with  that  circle  in  which 
she  moved  without  impediment.  She  was  a  calm, 
strong-minded  person,  very  much  resembling  her 
brother  ;  and,  like  a  sensible  woman,  she  swayed  her 
husband's  household,  without  mortifying  his  amour 
propre. 

Monsieur  Philip  de  Chateauneuve  was  a  merchant 
of  the  old  school — a  class,  by  the  way,  quite  as  well 
known  to  the  history  of  trade  among  the  English,  as 
among  their  Gallic  neighbors.  He  was  a  large  im- 
porter of  French  and  German  wines,  and  was  properly 
interested  in  his  business,  without  suffering  his  appe- 
tite for  gain  to  render  him  heedless  of  the  demands 
of  society — a  nice  and  difficult  distinction  which  the 
Anglo-Amerioan  has  yet  justly  to  appreciate.  He 
contrived,  in  other  words,  to  maintain  together  the 
character  of  the  trader  and  the  gentleman — was  con- 
tented with  moderate  profits  and  a  moderate  business, 
and  did  not  fancy  that  his  sole  destination  in  life  lay 
in  his  day-book  and  ledger.  He  was  thus  enabled  to 
devote  some  time  and  study  to  literature  and  the  fine 
arts,  of  which  he  was  passionately  fond  ;  and  his  col- 
lection, though  on  a  small  scale,  would  have  refreshed 
the  connoisseur,  as  his  gallery  was  not  more  petit  than 
recJierche.  He  had  some  pictures,  picked  up  during 
a  twelvemonth's  visit  to  the  continent  of  Europe,  and 
a  correspondence  with  friendly  amateurs  in  Italy, 
which  he  had  been  careful  to  nurse  and  keep  alive. 
Monsieur  de  Chateauneuve  was  considerably  older 
than  his  wife,  whom  he  professed  to  treat  rather  as  a 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  19 

child  than  a  woman.  To  all  this  she  yielded  with  a 
deference  seemingly  the  most  implicit,  being  quite 
satisfied  to  wield  the  essentials  of  power,  without  dis- 
puting about  its  shows.  Her  brother  was  quite  a 
favorite  with  her  Baron,  and  in  some  degree  I  suc- 
ceeded, after  a  season,  to  his  favor  also.  But  these 
details  are  unnecessary.  Enough,  that  the  freedom 
of  his  house  afforded  me  that  of  several  of  the  oldest 
native  families,  the  very  families,  representing  an  or- 
der of  things  rapidly  dying  out,  but  which,  in  number- 
less respects,  deserved  to  survive  their  disabilities, 
which,  of  all  things,  I  should  have  most  desired. 

With  a  very  slight  smattering  of  French,  which 
was  sufficiently  imperfect  to  encourage  my  friends 
to  correct  me  graciously — a  task  which  my  fair 
companions  always  performed  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
make  the  correction  agreeable — I  made  my  way  into 
society  with  tolerable  success.  Though  something  of 
a  rustic,  I  was  lively  and  good-natured,  and  my  equal 
simplicity  and  animation  were  serviceable  to  me  in  a 
condition  of  the  social  world  which  if  highly  sophisti- 
cated, had  never  yet  lost  its  frankness.  I  flattered 
myself  that  I  grew  rather  popular,  and  Brandon 
assured  me  that  such  was  the  case.  Invitations, 
accordingly,  poured  in  upon,  and  kept  me  busy.  An 
incessant  round  of  parties — morning,  noon,  and  even- 
ing reunions — made  me  something  of  a  gallant;  and 
I,  who  had  lately  worn  moccasons  and  leggings,  was 
now  well  satisfied  to  believe  that  I  had  never  danced 
in  anything  more  grotesque  than  French  opera  boots, 
and  Poniatowski  pumps! 


20  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

One  delightful  morning  in  January  found  Frederick 
Brandon  and  myself  eagerly  engaged  in  discussing  our 
habits  for  the  bal  masque  of  Madame  Marie  de  Ber- 
niere.  This  lady  was  a  belle  and  a  fortune.  She  was 
the  youthful  widow  of  the  once  notorious  Col.  Eugene 
de  Berniere,  a  sugar  planter  and  a  famous  swordsman. 
He  was  one  of  a  school  now  nearly  extinct,  who 
prided  himself  on  his  reputation  as  a  fire-eater.  He 
had  been  emphatically  un  mauvais  sujet,  one  of  the 
most  malignant  of  a  tribe  whose  malignity  assumed  a 
type  of  fanaticism  little  short  of  insanity,  and  who 
seemed  anxious  to  distinguish  themselves  by  a  sort  of 
general  warfare  against  humanity.  A  fierce,  dark, 
savage  man,  ungenial  and  morose,  he  had  been  a  do- 
mestic tyrant,  and  was  equally  feared  by  his  family, 
and  loathed  by  society,  which  he  nevertheless  con- 
trived to  bully  into  the  appearance  of  respect  and 
certainly  into  forbearance. 

Marie  Prideau,  now  de  Berniere,  was  some  twenty 
years  younger  than  himself.  She  had  been  forced 
into  his  arms  when  but  a  child  of  sixteen,  by  the 
perverse  avarice  of  her  needy  mother,  who  very  soon 
learned  to  deplore  the  folly  of  which  she  had  been 
guilty,  the  cruel  fruits  of  which  she  was  yet  not  com- 
pelled in  her  own  person  to  endure.  These  enured 
wholly  to  the  unhappy  victim,  her  daughter.  Col. 
de  Berniere  soon  taught  her  an  experience  in  torture 
which  might  have  afforded  some  lessons  to  the  Spanish 
Inquisition,  in  the  day  of  its  maturer  tyrannies.  He 
soon  grew  jealous  of  the  fidelity  of  the  beautiful 
creature  delivered  into  his  hands,  assured  as  he  was, 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  21 

by  the  infallible  convictions  of  his  nature,  that  there 
was  nothing  in  himself  at  all  calculated  to  secure  or 
influence  her  affections.  But  his  jealousy  was  wholly 
without  cause. 

The  virtues  of  Marie  de  Berniere  were  beyond  re- 
proach. Her  prudence,  however,  was  at  fault.  Of 
a  high  spirit,  a  frank  and  ardent  temper,  she  could 
not  conceal  the  disgust  and  aversion  which  his  brutal- 
ities provoked.  His  treatment  of  her  was  harsh  and 
brutal,  amounting  at  times  to  violence  ;  and  his  death, 
which  happened  suddenly,  was  a  grateful  relief  from 
the  most  cruel  of  all  bonds.  She  felt  it  so,  and  af- 
fected none  of  the  regrets  which  she  could  not  be 
supposed  to  feel.  She  was  at  no  great  pains  to  con- 
vince the  world  that  she  was  unconsolable ;  still,  she 
offended  against  none  of  the  proprieties.  She  clad 
herself  and  household  in  the  usual  habits  of  mourning. 
She  abstained  from  the  gayer  circles  of  society ;  she 
violated  none  of  its  rules ;  and  her  conduct  was  held 
not  merely  unexceptionable,  but,  among  those  who 
knew  her  history,  exemplary  in  a  high  degree.  And 
thus  she  continued  till  the  period  of  our  narrative. 

It  was  now  nearly  two  years  since  the  death  of  her 
tyrant.  Her  "weeds  were  all  discarded ;  she  had  re- 
sumed her  place  in  society,  and  was  now  preparing  to 
give  her  first  grand  entertainment.  All  the  world, 
to  employ  the  superlative  idiom  of  the  French,  was 
agog  for  the  occasion.  They  knew  her  story;  they 
felt  her  charms  ;  they  had  not  forgotten  the  great 
wealth,  which  the  sudden  death  of  her  husband,  with- 
out heirs,  had  secured  without  restraint  to  herself. 


22  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

The  public  mind  was  greatly  excited,  and  indulged  in 
glowing  expectations.  Conjecture  and  rumor  were 
busy  in  describing,  in  language  the  most  exaggerated, 
the  delights  and  glories  which  we  might  anticipate. 
The  young  widow  was  about  to  revenge  herself  for 
her  long  forbearance ;  and  the  prediction  was  confi- 
dent and  universal  that  we  were  soon  to  enjoy  a 
festival  more  brilliant,  picturesque,  and  charming  than 
had  been  seen  for  many  years  before  in  our  American 
Paris.  Great  preparations  for  the  event  were  known 
to  be  in  progress,  and  all  the  auguries  were  propitious 
and  all  the  prophecies  were  grateful.  Anticipation, 
however,  if  I  may  dare  to  say  so,  did  not  go  quite  far 
enough.  The  spectacle  may  have  had  a  self-exagge- 
rating effect  in  eyes  which,  like  mine,  had  not  been 
familiar  with  such  displays,  and  which,  accordingly, 
were  without  the  just  standards  for  determining  upon 
them,  but  there  is  still  a  considerable  circle  in  the 
Crescent  City,  as  it  was  some  thirty  years  ago,  who 
will  long  remember  the  bal  masque  of  Madame  de 
Berniere,  not  less  from  what  actually  took  place, 
than  by  what  was  so  glowingly  promised  to  public 
expectation. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  23 

CHAPTER  III. 

PREPARATIONS  FOR  THE  BAL  MASQUE — EXPECTATIONS. 

I  NEED  not  shame  to  say  that  the  event,  the  anti- 
cipations of  which  had  occasioned  such  a  complete 
bouleversement  among  the  fashionables  of  New  Orleans, 
turned  my  head  also.  I  was  an  eager  boy  ;  this  was 
my  first  appearance  on  such  a  scene,  and  I  was  in  a 
tumult  of  pleasurable  excitement.  I  had  heard  of  the 
masked  balls  among  the  Europeans — of  their  motley 
crowds,  their  wild  splendor,  their  ever-changing  as- 
pects and  ever-fruitful  provocations  to  pleasure ;  the 
humors  which  they  elicited,  the  curious  blunders 
which  they  occasioned  and  developed ;  their  dramatic 
gclaircissement — the  felicitous  fancies  and  unique 
tastes  which  made  their  inimitable  contrast ;  the  mer- 
riment and  wit  which  flowed  or  flashed  in  the  keen 
encounter  of  well-chosen  characters ;  and  more  than 
all,  the  romance  of  their  intrigues,  and  the  results, 
as  grateful  to  the  heart  as  to  the  fancy,  which  some- 
times sprung  from  the  happy  exhibitions  which  they 
made  equally  of  heart  and  fancy. 

These  were  my  thoughts  and  dreams,  leading  me 
to  the  encouragement  of  the  wildest  expectations,  far 
beyond  the  possibility  even  of  what  I  was  really  to 
enjoy.  The  romance  of  the  thing  appealed  to  an  im- 
agination only  too  eager  and  impetuous,  always  and 
forever  on  the  wing.  That  indescribable  halo  with 


24 

which  the  fancy  invests  the  creature  of  the  hope  or 
the  thought,  far  beyond  anything  in  the  capacity  of 
man  to  realize,  had  borne  me  aloft  into  that  ideal 
land  of  anticipation,  where  all  the  aspects  that  en- 
counter us  are  of  such  stuif  only  as  make  the  visions 
of  the  inexperienced  boy.  But  the  human  sense  was 
present,  to  give  body  to  the  glad  and  wandering 
sentiment.  To  confess  a  truth,  I  had  some  vague 
notions  of  personal  adventure  ;  of  some  romantic  en- 
counter with  beauty  in  a  disguise  which  I  was  decreed 
to  penetrate — beneath  which  I  was  to  discover  charms, 
and  sensibilities,  and  affections,  which  were  to  be  the 
more  valuable  as  they  had  already  learned  to  find  a 
value  in  myself.  In  brief,  I  was  to  be  made  happy 
by  a  happy  conquest.  Oh  dreams !  dreams !  But 
not  the  less  precious  that  they  are  nothing  more. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

BRANDON'S  PASSION. 

BRANDON  had  his  expectations,  also,  not  less  plea- 
sant than  mine,  and  resting  on  far  better  foundations. 
He  did  not  withhold  them  from  me,  though  he  revealed 
them  now  for  the  first  time.  His  were  hopes  and  ex- 
pectations, rather  than  mere  dreams.  That  portion 
of  my  romance  which  ensued  from  the  mystery,  did 
not  belong  to  his  calculations.  These  he  did  not  sup- 
press. He  had  a  passion  actively  working  in  his 
heart,  the  object  of  which  was  no  less  a  person  than 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  25 

the  fair  widow  herself.  Of  her  he  had  never  spoken  to 
me  before ;  and  her  home  was  almost  the  only  one,  of 
all  within  the  range  of  his  sister's  circle,  into  which  I 
had  not  gone  in  his  company.  But  he  had  gone  thither 
alone.  This  he  now  revealed  to  me.  He  had  long 
known  her,  and  had  loved  her  even  before  the  death  of 
her  husband.  Speaking  of  him,  he  had  but  a  single 
word — "Brute!"  which  he  repeated  with  singular 
emphasis'.  From  him  I  now  received  her  story. 
Brandon  then  revealed  to  me  his  own  relations  with 
the  widow. 

"If  woman,"  said  he,  "were  always  her  own  mis- 
tress— were  she  not  too  commonly  influenced  by  what 
is  called  the  world,  and  what  she  considers  its  friend- 
ships— I  might  easily  persuade  myself  to  indulge  in  a 
hope  which  might  seem  to  others  unbecoming.  But 
to  you,  William,  I  frankly  say  that,  if  I  do  not  great- 
ly deceive  myself,  I  have  a  place  in  Marie's  heart.  I 
loved  her  when  she  was  the  wife  of  another,  though  I 
knew  not  the  fact  myself.  Then  I  saw  her  but  infre- 
quently, and  we  had  no  opportunities  for  speech  toge- 
ther. But  she  must  even  then  have  seen  the  earnest- 
ness with  which  I  watched  her  ;  and  I  have  a  thousand 
times  fancied  since,  when  endeavoring  to  recall  the 
past,  that  her  eye,  even  then,  frequently  distinguished 
me  from  among  the  crowd.  Since  she  has  opened 
her  doors  to  society,  I  have  availed  myself  of  my 
sister's  intimacy,  to  see  her  frequently.  We  have 
also  met  when  none  were  present ;  and  I  feel  my  ad- 
vances have  not  been  made  in  vain.  I  confess  to  you 
3 


26  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

frankly,  that  I  love  her  beyond  any  woman  I  have 
ever  yet  beheld." 

"  But  how  will  you  overcome  the  difficulty  in  regard 
to  religion  ?  I  heard  your  sister  last  night  say,  that 
she  was  something  of  a  devotee — quite  a  wild  spiritu- 
alist, and  a  little  too  much  under  the  influence  of  her 
ghostly  father." 

"  She  is  spiritual  only  because  she  is  imaginative. 
She  is  religious  and  a  devotee,  only  because  "hers  is  a 
very  earnest  and  enthusiastic  nature.  Her  religion, 
I  fancy,  will  be  no  difficulty  with  me,  if  mine  should 
suggest  none  to  her.  She  is  a  Catholic,  and  I,  if  any- 
thing, am  an  Episcopalian.  There  are  really  no  vital 
differences  between  the  two  creeds,  except  in  respects 
which  rather  concern  society  than  the  individual. 
The  great  effort  of  Protestantism  in  England  was 
rather  to  strip  the  state  of  its  religion,  than  the  man. 
In  that  country,  now,  the  established  church  is  simply 
an  instrument  of  state,  one  of  the  political  agencies 
for  the  maintenance  of  a  system.  I  am  tolerant.  I 
do  not  feel  that  my  faith  has  any  right  to  quarrel 
with  the  forms  of  another,  which  admits  her  to  be 
pure,  fond,  and  faithful,  simply  because  it  obeys  cer- 
tain prescriptive  modes  in  its  exhibition.  My  wife 
may  pray  at  any  altar  that  she  pleases,  so  that  she 
really  does  pray,  and  always  puts  me  forward  in  her 
prayers.  For  me,  I  think  it  likely  she  will  suffer  me 
to  worship  where  I  please,  always  provided  that  I 
make  no  other  living  woman  my  madonna." 

I  laughed.  I  had  no  doubt  of  his  success,  and  I 
told  him  so.  I  felt  sure  that  few  women  could  with- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  27 

stand  hitn.  Few  men  were  in  possession  of  more 
decided  or  superior  attractions.  Something  has  al- 
ready been  said  of  his  character.  His  personal  claims 
were  not  a  whit  behind  those  of  his  intellect.  A  more 
manly  fellow  never  left  the  mountains  of  Tennessee. 
A  more  graceful  person  never  trod  in  the  palaces  of 
nobility.  Brave,  generous,  and  frank — a  splendid 
rider,  a  famous  wrestler,  a  deadly  shot — he  had  yet 
other  attractions.  He  could  pace  a  galliard  like  a 
prince,  and  hold  his  ground  with  Hoyle  and  Phillidor 
at  whist  and  chess.  Besides,  his  literary  tastes  had 
been  cultivated,  and  were  of  a  decided  character. 
His  information  was  large,  and  of  that  sort  which 
society  most  needs  and  most  desires.  He  could  sug- 
gest a  plan  for  draining  a  meadow,  reclaiming  a  desert, 
improving  a  crop,  and  designing  a  cottage  ;  and,  with- 
out obtruding  his  art,  he  could  frame  a  sonnet  to  a 
sentiment,  or  compose  the  song  for  a  favorite  strain 
of  summer  music.  It  is  true  that  Frederick  Brandon 
had  little  wealth ;  but  what  of  this,  if  that  of  Marie 
de  Berniere  could  suffice  for  both  ?  I  felt  sure,  and 
spoke  confidently  of  his  success.  He  heard  me  pa- 
tiently. 

"  I  do  not  certainly  underrate  my  hopes,"  said  he; 
"but  I  am  very  sure  that  I  do  not  overrate  my  fears. 
I  foresee  much  difficulty  before  me,  from  a  cause  which 
is  scarcely  visible  to  you ;  nor  can  I  now  explain  it 
myself.  Enough,  that  I  have  a  severe  struggle  before 
me,  which  will  test  all  my  strength  and  ingenuity. 
But  hither  comes  my  sister.  Not  a  word  more.  Let 
us  look  now  at  the  visors." 


28  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 


CHAPTER   V. 

MADAME  DE  BERNIERE. 

THAT  very  morning,  under  the  auspices  of  Madame 
de  Chateauneuve,  I  made  my  first  visit  to  the  lovely 
Marie  de  Berniere.  She  received  us  very  graciously, 
and  was,  I  fancied,  particularly  solicitous  of  the  favor- 
able regards  of  Madame  de  C.  Nor  had  I  any  reason 
to  complain.  Benevolence  and  sweetness  were  appa- 
rently the  most  distinguishing  traits  in  her  composi- 
tion ;  and  she  very  soon  put  me  quite  at  ease  beside 
her.  When  I  left  her,  I  felt  as  if  she  were  an  old 
acquaintance.  I  have  said  that  Marie  de  Berniere 
was  a  belle.  She  deserved  to  be  so,  and  would  have 
had  friends  in  spite  of  all  her  fortune.  She  was  but 
twenty-two  at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  and  possessed 
all  the  frankness,  the  delicacy,  and  freshness  of  a  girl 
of  seventeen  ;  with  the  additional  advantages  of  a  con- 
templative mood  derived  from  a  premature  experience. 
Never  did  a  more  beautiful  or  princely  creature  glide 
through  the  measured  majesty  of  dance.  Her  form 
was  rather  above  the  middling  size,  but  eminently 
symmetrical.  Her  carriage  was  at  once  dignified  and 
unaffected.  So  much  grace  and  simplicity,  with  so 
much  elevation  and  nobility,  were  never  before  united 
in  the  same  person.  Her  features  were  by  no  means 
regular.  Regularity  of  features,  indeed,  is  seldom 
consistent  with  real  or  remarkable  beauty — but  hers 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  29 

were  so  perfect  in  themselves,  and  each  so  perfect  by 
itself,  that  their  combined  expression  was  irresistible, 
and  readily  served  to  divert  the  eye  from  any  too 
close  analysis  of  details,  which  might  have  resulted  in 
an  unfavorable  decision  upon  the  whole.  In  brief, 
you  were  touched,  and  made  to  sympathize  with  the 
object,  before  you  could  begin  its  study,  and  then  all 
farther  examination  was  prosecuted  under  a  bias  which 
left  the  judgment  no  longer  free.  You  were  not  al- 
lowed to  perceive  a  deficiency  in  charms  which  had 
already  dazzled  the  glance  and  warmed  the  fancy ; 
and  the  mind  yielded  with  the  eye,  and  the  heart  sub- 
mitted at  the  first  summons,  to  a  nameless  influence 
which  was  sufficient  to  prejudice,  in  its  behalf,  the 
severest  purpose  of  the  critic.  Such  was  the  effect  of 
the  beauty  of  Marie  de  Berniere  on  most  persons.  In 
this  way,  perhaps,  had  it  won  the  young  admiration 
of  my  companion.  He  admitted  that  he  had  yielded 
without  resistance,  at  a  mere  glance,  when  he  first 
came  to  New  Orleans  ;  but  he  insisted  that  the  first 
impressions  of  his  eye  had  been  confirmed  by  the  sub- 
sequent experience  of  his  mind.  We  shall  see.  At 
all  events,  I  was  not  prepared,  or  indeed,  at  all  dis- 
posed, to  question  the  propriety  of  his  feelings  or  the 
wisdom  of  his  tastes.  My  first  interview  with  the 
beautiful  widow  awakened  in  my  own  heart  a  warm 
and  genial  attachment  for  her ;  not  of  love,  remember, 
but  of  such  a  kind  as  to  make  it  easy  to  understand 
how  it  should  be  love  in  the  bosom  of  my  friend. 
Still,  I  am  disposed  to  think  that,  prudent  and  cool 
in  all  other  matters,  Frederick  Brandon  had  hurried 

3* 


30  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

into  this  attachment  with  all  the  impulse  of  the  boy, 
just  freed  from  the  leash  at  twenty-one.  All  men 
have  their  rashnesses,  and  this  was  his.  Admitting 
all  the  charms  of  Marie  de  Berniere,  there  were  some 
peculiarities  about  her  that  never  entirely  satisfied 
myself. 

These,  I  was  more  sensible  of,  during  a  quiet  even- 
ing at  Madame  de  Chateauneuve's  mansion,  preceding 
by  a  few  days  the  bal  masque,  and  where  I  saw  her 
for  the  second  time.  On  this  occasion,  I  studied  her 
with  much  more  freedom  and  particularity  than  be- 
fore. That  she  was  a  person  of  many  and  imposing 
beauties,  such  as  must  infallibly  make  themselves 
admired  and  soon  beloved  by  thousands,  almost  at  a 
glance,  I  could  easily  perceive  and  will  cheerfully 
admit.  It  was  the  style  and  manner  of  her  beauty 
that  did  not  satisfy  me — that  startled  me,  in  fact, 
and  made  me  to  fear,  in  some  degree,  as  well  as  to 
admire.  I  felt  that  there  was  something  unnaturally 
powerful  in  the  very  intensity  of  her  glance.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  brilliant  than  her  eye.  But  it 
was  fascination,  no  less  than  splendor.  The  effect  was 
rather  to  dazzle  and  confound,  than  to  persuade.  If 
it  had  the  brilliancy  of  the  diamond — its  purity  and 
clearness — it  seemed  to  possess  its  hardness  also. 
The  lady  had  a  habit  of  looking  on  you,  fixedly,  into 
your  very  eye — a  habit  which  very  seldom  pleases 
or  attracts;  her  own  glittering  all  the  while,  with  a 
piercing  shaft-like  directness,  of  the  intensity  of 
which  she  seemed  to  be  nearly  entirely  unconscious. 
It  happened,  not  unfrequently,  while  she  was  thus 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  31 

looking  through  you,  as  it  were,  that  your  remarks 
would  utterly  fail  to  fix  her  thoughts  or  command  her 
attention.  Her  mind  seemed,  at  such  moments,  to  be 
wandering;  her  faculties  absorbed  in  musings  and 
contemplations  as  widely  remote  from  what  you  were 
saying,  and  even  from  yourself,  as  if  she  were  wholly 
in  another  world  and  presence;  and  when,  by  an  evi- 
dent effort  of  will,  she  would  recall  her  consciousness 
to  the  things  about  her,  it  was  with  a  seeming  rest- 
lessness of  mood  that  robbed  the  features,  for  awhile, 
of  all  expression.  These  were  peculiarities  which  I 
did  not  conceive  to  be  pleasant  ones.  There  was  yet 
another.  There  was  a  something  in  the  occasional 
quivering  of  her  thin  lips,  which  produced  an  uncom- 
fortable sensation;  and  she  had  a  habit  of  drawing 
in  her  breath,  at  moments  of  pause,  in  the  conversa- 
tion, with  a  slight  sobbing  sound,  such  as  an  infant 
gives  out  after  having  cried  itself  to  sleep.  This  was 
another  peculiarity  which,  I  confess,  tended  some- 
what to  qualify  my  admiration  of  her  charms.  They 
seemed  to  be  so  many  proofs  of  an  hysterical  tend- 
ency, and  to  betray,  also,  the  weight  of  some  secret 
sorrow  or  anxiety,  which  we  do  not  relish  should 
appear  conspicuous  in  the  case  of  youth  and  feminine 
beauty.  I  doubt  whether  Frederick  Brandon  per- 
ceived these  peculiarities  at  all,  or  they  may  have 
seamed  to  him  only  so  many  additional  beauties. 

Of  her  features  a  brief  sketch  will  suffice.  Her 
hair  was  of  a  light  brown;  her  eye  was  hazel  ;  her 
complexion  dazzlingly  fair,  and  distinguished  by  the 
most  delicate  peach-blossom  that  ever  kindled  the 


32  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

virgin  cheek  to  loveliness.  Never  was  mouth  more 
sweetly  yet  expressively  fashioned.  Her  nose  was 
Grecian;  the  eye  large  and  eminent;  the  chin  full, 
but  delicately  rounded  ;  the  forehead  high  rather  than 
massive :  the  neck  long  and  white,  arching  beautifully, 
and  the  throat  broad  and  very  fair,  and  worthy  of 
the  well-fashioned  bust  from  which  it  rose.  Of  her 
figure  and  carriage  I  have  spoken. 

Such  was  the  result  of  my  observations  during  my 
second  interview  with  Madame  de  Berniere.  They 
must  not  be  thought  unfavorable.  Perhaps  I  sought 
for  defects,  in  order  to  prevent  myself  from  becoming 
too  much  pleased.  I  must  add  that,  personally,  I  had 
no  reason  to  be  less  satisfied  with  her  on  this  than 
on  the  previous  occasion.  Her  attention  to  me  was 
quite  as  friendly  as  before.  She  evidently  treated  me 
with  special  favor;  and  I  was  not  vain  enough  to 
ascribe  this  treatment  to  any  cause  but  the  high  de- 
gree of  favor  which  my  friend  enjoyed  in  her  estima- 
tion. But,  let  us  hurry  ;  the  masquerade  approaches. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE  BAL  MASQUE — THE  TWO  EGYPTIANS. 

THE  bal  masque  might  well  have  been  a  native  of 
the  Crescent  City.  It  is  here  more  at  home  than  in 
any  other  portion  of  the  Union.  Here  it  belongs  to 
the  original  sources  of  society — the  creation  of  a 
Provengal  and  Andalusian  parentage.  It  accords  with 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  33 

the  flexible  mood  of  the  people,  their  social  readiness, 
the  felicity  of  their  humor,  its  play,  and  liveliness. 
It  is  also  characteristic  of  a  nature  that  loves  to  turn 
aside  to  regions  of  its  own,  to  dream,  and  indulge  in 
fanciful  wanderings.  It  is  grateful  to  the  South  ;  it 
belongs  to  starlight  and  flowers,  and  appeals  to  tastes 
and  sensibilities,  which,  in  consequence  of  the  very 
intensity  of  the  native  passions,  prefers  to  disguise 
the  over-earnest  impulses,  and  to  mask  from  exposure 
the  too  eager  susceptibilities.  That  it  is  a  dangerous 
recreation,  as  calculated  to  promote  intrigue,  is  per- 
haps only  true  of  it  among  a  colder  and  more  calcu- 
lating people.  I  doubt  if  it  is  employed  for  any 
such  purpose  in  New  Orleans.  It  is  simply  one  of 
the  sports  which  constitute  the  romance  of  society, 
and  divert  it  from  its  passions.  It  belongs  rather  to 
the  play  of  the  people  than  to  their  appetites.  It 
brings  out  ingenious  resource  in  conversation;  exer- 
cises the  subtleties  of  small  social  diplomacy;  enables 
a  bashful  lover,  perhaps,  to  declare,  under  a  monk's 
visage,  what  he  would  not  venture  beneath  his  own ; 
but  seldom  goes  a  fraction  farther.  It  is  the  colder 
and  more  deliberate  nature  that  plans  and  contrives 
such  an  agency  for  the  promotion  of  more  dangerous 
and  deeper  purposes;  a  prurient  and  vicious  mind, 
that  forever  broods  over  its  mere  appetites  ;  nursing, 
by  means  of  thought,  those  characteristics  which 
properly  belong  only  to  the  sanguine  impulses.  The 
passions  of  the  warm  South,  once  aroused,  would 
break  through  and  fling  aside  all  disguises.  It  cannot 
often  employ  hypocrisy  for  the  purposes  of  passion ; 


34  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

and  is  as  far  as  possible  from  any  cold  calculations  in 
respect  to  it.  These  belong  really  to  regions  where 
the  blood  is  never  too  warm  for  the  control  of  the 
intellect ;  and  where,  accordingly,  the  intellect  itself 
is  made  use  of  to  stimulate  the  ardor  and  the  fervor 
of  the  blood. 

But  a  truce  to  these  preliminaries.  Let  it  suffice 
that  the  bal  masque  of  Madame  de  Berniere  was  one 
of  the  most  splendid  affairs  that  had  ever  taken  place 
in  New  Orleans.  It  was  decidedly  beyond  anything 
that  I  had  ever  dreamed  of  as  likely  to  occur  in  our 
time  and  country.  It  realized  all  my  fancies  of  what 
might  happen  in  foreign  lands,  where  wealth,  art, 
taste,  and  luxury  combine  for  the  gratification  of  the 
senses  and  the  delight  of  the  imagination. 

The  mansion  of  Madame  de  Berniere  was  a  huge 
antique  double  establishment,  situated  in  the  rue  de 

,  the  "court"  precinct  in  the  old  French  city. 

Its  dimensions  were  sufficiently  ample  even  for  the 
vast  entertainment  which  it  now  afforded. 

We  came  at  an  early  hour.  The  place  was  illumi- 
nated gloriously,  from  basement  to  attic;  the  lights 
disposed  in  wreaths,  in  stars,  in  crescents,  upon  the 
windows,  making  deep  night  in  that  narrow  street 
emulous  of  noonday.  The  long  treble  line  of  car- 
riages which  filled  the  avenue,  even  at  the  early  hour 
of  our  coming,  declared,  as  certainly  as  any  other 
sign,  the  sensation  which  the  affair  had  occasioned 
among  the  ancient  aristocracy  of  this  the  American 
Paris.  The  broad  passage-way,  through  which  the 
dwelling  was  entered,  was  crowded  ere  we  came;  and 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  35 

it  required  a  struggle  to  secure  ingress,  through  the 
multitude.  I  was  dazzled  and  bewildered,  and  but  for 
Madame  de  Chateauneuve,  must  have  been  lost.  What 
with  the  glance  of  lights,  the  confusion  of  tongues, 
the  splendor  and  variety  of  costumes,  the  blaze  of 
jewels,  and  the  frequent  bursts  of  a  full  and  noble 
orchestra,  I  was  completely  taken  from  my  feet.  My 
eyes  wandered  from  subject  to  subject,  with  an  abso- 
lute consternation.  I  began  to  fancy  myself  in  some 
famous  European  palace,  amongst  crowned  heads  and 
nobility.  There  they  were,  looking  like  the  life. 
There  were  kings  and  princes  ;  popes  and  cardinals ; 
dukes,  and  lords,  and  knights;  jongleurs  and  trouba- 
dours; Cleopatra,  with  her  basket  of  asps  and  apples ; 
Anne  Bullen,  followed  by  the  headsman,  and  a  won- 
drous array  of  other  famous  individual  characters  from 
the  days  of  Solomon  to  those  of  Louis  Quatorze,  and 
later.  But  mine  is  not  a  catalogue,  and  the  reader 
must  conceive  for  himself  the  assortment  of  distin- 
guished personages,  such  as  would  be  likely  to  make 
their  appearance  on  an  occasion  so  grateful  to  aristo- 
cracy. 

We  struggled  as  we  could,  through  the  dense  and 
shifting  masses,  until  we  reached  the  dais  of  reception, 
where,  until  a  certain  hour — until  the  guests,  in  fact, 
were  all  assembled — our  fair  hostess  sat  in  a  modest 
state,  unmarked,  and  in  ordinary  ball  costume.  Here, 
in  simplest  white,  with  one  pale  rose  just  blossoming 
in  her  hand,  Marie  de  Berniere  shone  as  a  star  of  the 
first  magnitude.  I  had  the  honor  to  present  Madame 
Chateauneuve,  while  Frederick  Brandon  followed  us. 


36  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

I  felt  very  much  like  falling  upon  one  knee,  as  to 
royalty,  and  making  my  profound  obeisance  to  the 
beautiful  sovereign,  who,  looking  so  much  like  Una, 
the  mistress  of  the  snow-white  lamb,  as  described  by 
Spenser,  seemed  to  be  now  entirely  without  defect — 
a  perfect  creature  of  delight.  Her  beauty,  I  confess, 
at  this  moment,  seemed  completely  pure,  and  without 
qualification.  She  was  really  in  her  element. 

What  was  the  delight  of  my  friend,  I  could  readily 
conjecture,  though  I  am  sure,  even  had  his  visor  been 
lifted,  that  no  one  could  have  suspected  the  fervor  of 
his  fancy,  or  the  depth  of  his  attachment,  in  that 
calm  white  brow,  and  that  sweet  repose  and  gentle 
satisfaction  which  rayed  out  modestly  from  his  great 
blue  eyes.  I  watched  both  the  parties  as  he  drew 
nigh  to  make  his  bow,  and  fancied  that  the  smile 
with  which  she  welcomed  him  was  one  of  peculiar  in- 
dulgence. That  she  knew  all  of  us,  though  we  came 
in  character  and  masks,  was  the  natural  consequence 
of  the  arrangement  for  the  ball,  by  which  she  pos- 
sessed an  advantage  over  all  her  guests.  It  was  one 
of  the  modes  adopted  for  securing  the  company  from 
the  intrusion  of  improper  or  uninvited  persons,  that 
each  expected  guest  was  required  to  apprize  her  of 
the  costume  in  which  they  would  appear.  His  card, 
with  her  signature,  could  alone  secure  admission  to 
the  mansion,  which  was  guarded  by  a  strong  police  of 
gens  d'armes. 

This  plan  gave  her  a  key  to  all  the  characters  pres- 
ent ;  and  I  could  see  that  her  eye  lingered  earnestly 
upon  the  erect  form  of  my  friend,  shrouded  as  it  was 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  37 

in  the  flowing  garments  of  the  Egyptian  magian. 
But  we  were  compelled  to  give  place  to  other  person- 
ages. 

The  preliminaries  of  reception  may  have  consumed 
an  hour,  when,  without  signal,  Madame  Marie  de 
Berniere  disappeared  from  the  circle,  in  which  all  was 
now  life  and  animation.  When  she  again  returned, 
it  was  only  to  be  lost  among  the  thousand  masks  of 
which  nothing  could  be  known  except  by  conjecture. 
The  music  timed  all  our  proceedings,  whether  we 
danced,  walked,  or  took  refreshments.  We  had  a  nu- 
merous range  of  apartments  on  an  upper  and  a  lower 
floor.  A  piazza  in  the  rear  of  the  building  was  in- 
closed with  canvas,  artfully  arrayed  with  festoons  and 
flowers,  and  draped  with  shawls  and  curtains.  This, 
in  turn,  conducted,  by  a  flight  of  steps,  into  the  love- 
liest court,  where  every  variety  of  flower  and  shrub 
was  congregated  to  give  softness  and  sweetness  to  the 
scene.  In  that  warm  latitude,  even  in  February,  it 
was  sometimes  pleasant  to  glide  into'  the  cool  porches, 
and  inhale  the  fresh  breathings  from  the  cisterns  of 
the  night.  All  was  privilege  and  pleasure,  within  the 
bounds  of  propriety  and  taste.  Now  we  grew  to- 
gether in  groups,  interested  by  the  attractive  and 
spirited  dialogue  of  masks  which  were  doing  more 
than  common  justice  to  the  characters  they  had  as- 
sumed ;  and  now  we  lingered  over  the  prophecies  of 
some  saucy  gypsy,  who  used  truth  like  a  winged  arrow 
— as,  by  the  way,  it  always  is  — sure  to  hit  some  bo- 
som, however  randomly  sent ;  and  now  we  followed, 
laughingly,  after  the  ludicrous  antics  of  some  clever 
4 


38  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

Arlecchino,  who  might  have  earned  his  bread  in  Italy 
where  his  art  is  more  native  than  with  us. 

It  was  not  long  before,  on  every  hand,  the  usual 
silly  preliminary  of  "  I  know  you !"  had  given  way  to 
settled  dialogue,  and,  if  the  phrase  be  not  an  absurdity, 
of  serious  conversation.  The  groups  were  now  pretty 
much  broken  up  into  pairs,  each  drawing  aside  with 
him  that  mask  which  promised  him  most  pleasure, 
most  excited  his  curiosity,  or  most  gratified  his  vanity. 
Of  my  own  adventures  and  successes  I  shall  say  but 
little.  It  needs  not  even  be  told  in  what  costume  I 
appeared  on  this  to  me  the  most  memorable  of  all 
my  social  experiences.  My  fortune,  I  must  admit, 
was  neither  a  very  promising  nor  highly  prominent 
one.  I  may  have  flirted  with  a  maid  of  honor,  or 
fancied  that  I  felt  a  more  than  usual  interest  in  a 
Sicilian  shepherdess — or  squeezed,  more  tenderly  than 
was  prudent,  the  fingers  of  a  Hebrew  damsel  who 
sighed  over  her  virginity  in  the  character  of  Jephtha's 
daughter.  You  may  conjecture  what  you  please.  I 
shall  make  no  confessions.  It  is  my  friend's  story, 
not  my  own,  which  I  have  promised  you,  and  we  shall 
soon  get  to  that.  Certain  it  is,  that  for  my  own  part 
the  proceedings  were  by  no  means  satisfactory.  I  had 
my  vis-a-vis,  true — and  changed  her,  often  enough; 
more  frequently,  perhaps,  than  was  complimentary  to 
her  or  profitable  to  myself;  but  I  made  no  conquests, 
and  escaped  scot-free  myself.  I  strove,  but  did  not 
succeed,  in  persuading  any  of  them  to  remove  their 
masks,  though  but  for  an  instant,  and  was  rather  fatigued 
than  satisfied,  long  before  anybody  else  was  ennuyee. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  39 

Such,  however,  was  far  from  being  the  case  with 
Frederick  Brandon.  He  came  to  me  a  little  after 
midnight.  The  clocks  throughout  the  house  had  all 
been  silenced;  and,  half  wearied,  I  was  stealing  a 
glance  at  my  watch  concealed  within  the  folds  of  my 
vest,  when  he  laid  his  hand  upon  my  arm.  I  turned, 
with  a  guilty  consciousness,  and  he  saw  what  I  was 
doing. 

"Fie!"  said  he,  t; looking  at  your  watch.  What 
a  barbarian — what  a  Tennessean  !  Beware,  you  must 
not  suffer  our  hostess  to  see  you  at  such  a  provincial- 
ism." 

"  She  !     Where  is  she  ?     In  what  habit  ?" 

"  Hush  !  She  is  not  far  off!  See  there — there,  as 
Zenobia.  Is  she  not  a  queenly  creature  ?" 

"  She  is,  indeed." 

"  How  the  habit  suits  her  !     She  approaches." 

At  these  words,  Frederick  turned,  and  advanced 
towards  her.  She  took  his  arm  promptly,  as  soon  as 
offered,  and  they  disappeared  among  the  groups.  This 
proceeding  spoke  favorably  for  my  friend's  success. 
It  would  seem  that  they  understood  each  other.  I 
followed  their  forms  with  my  eyes,  until  a  group  of 
masks,  loud  in  merriment,  drew  nigh,  and  I  shrunk 
back  from  their  clamors,  into  the  recess  of  a  window 
half  shrouded  by  rich  curtains  of  blue  and  crimson. 
There  I  threw  myself  upon  a  pile  of  cushions,  gradu- 
ally losing  myself  in  reverie ;  in  great  degree  unseen 
myself,  yet  able  to  see  every  passing  costume.  While 
I  mused,  a  shadow  filled  the  space.  I  looked  up  and 
saw  the  Egyptian  habit  of  my  friend. 


40  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

"Ah,  Frederick!  So  soon  returned?"  Such  were 
my  words,  to  which  he  gave  me  no  answer;  but, 
wheeling  quietly  about,  he  turned  away.  I  rose  to 
follow,  intending  to  say  that  I  was  really  monstrous 
weary,  and  meant  to  seek  out  his  sister,  in  the  hope 
to  find  her  similarly  disposed  to  escape ;  but,  just 
then,  a  huge  peasant  woman  of  Savoy,  followed  by  an 
officer  of  the  "Old  Guard,"  with  a  long  train  at  their 
heels,  interposed,  and  arrested  my  progress.  Before 
I  could  extricate  myself  from  this  multitude,  my 
Egyptian  had  disappeared.  I  had  just  given  up  the 
pursuit,  and  was  turning  again  to  my  recess  and  cush- 
ions, when  I  was  surprised  to  find  him  at  my  elbow. 

He  came  forward  hurriedly,  and  from  a  different 
quarter  of  the  apartment  from  that  where  I  had  lost 
him.  I  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve. 

"  This  time  I  have  you !  Well — you  have  been 
with  her,  and,  let  me  say,  you  seem  to  understand 
each  other.  Is  it  so  ?  Does  she  smile  ?" 

"Truly,"  said  he;  and  I  could  see  that  he  spoke 
with  a  slight  agitation  of  manner  which  was  quite  un- 
usual with  him.  "  Truly,  she  does,  I  have  gained 
something ;  but,  just  now,  there's  a  curious  mistake 
which  has  taken  place,  and  which  troubles  both  of  us. 
Do  not  be  out  of  the  way,  William  ;  I  may  need  your 
assistance." 

He  disappeared  at  these  words,  but  soon  returned, 
when  I  gathered  from  him  the  following  strange  par- 
ticulars. He  had  joined  Madame  de  Berniere,  as  I 
had  seen,  on  his  first  leaving  me,  and  they  had  retired 
into  an  alcove  together.  There,  she  had  proceeded,  as 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  41 

if  resuming  a  conversation  which  had  been  interrupted. 
What  she  said  was  of  a  character  particularly  inte- 
resting and  grateful  to  my  friend.  Her  remarks — 
her  manner  of  uttering  them — and  the  nature  of  the 
communication,  were  such  as  to  impress  him  with  the 
conviction  that  she  entertained  the  most  lively  inte- 
rest in  himself  and  fortunes.  All  this  was  grateful 
enough.  But  there  was  this  one  difficulty  about  the 
matter,  which  struck  and  staggered  Brandon,  and  it 
was  that  what  she  said  indicated  a  foregone  conclu- 
sion, and  seemed  to  have  reference  to  some  recent 
dialogue  which  had  already  taken  place  between  the 
parties.  Her  remarks,  in  fact,  were  so  many  re- 
sponses;— all  of  which  would  have  been  grateful 
enough  to  my  friend,  but  for  the  fact  that  she  appeared 
to  have  anticipated  the  very  things  which  it  had  been 
his  purpose  to  speak  to  her.  He  hesitated  about  de- 
claring this  difficulty,  and,  for  a  moment,  was  per- 
suaded that  he  should  be  content  with  the  favor  which 
he  had  found,  without  troubling  himself  as  to  the  par- 
ticular influences  which  had  drawn  it  forth ;  but  a 
moment's  reflection  convinced  him  of  the  error  into 
which  he  should  fall  by  having  any  subject  of  mystery 
unexplained  between  them,  and,  somewhat  hesitat- 
ingly, he  proceeded  to  tell  her  of  the  difficulty  which 
troubled  him.  Spoken  in  the  most  delicate  and  cau- 
tious manner,  she  was  yet  shocked  and  terrified.  She 
recoiled  from  him. 

"What  mean  you,  Monsieur  Brandon?" 
"Do  not  doubt,  dear  Marie,  that  what  you  say  is 
grateful  to  me  in  the  last  degree.     It  gives  me  what 

4* 


42  MARIE  DS  BERNIERE; 

I  have  long  wished  to  sue  for — a  hope ;  it  encourages 
me  to  speak  my  dreams — my  desires — but — " 

"But  what,  Monsieur  Frederick?" 

•"  But  truly,  this  is  the  first  moment  when  you  have 
spoken  with  me  on  the  subject !" 

"Ha!     What!  You  forget?" 

"  On  my  honor,  no  !  I  forget  not  a  word  you  have 
ever  spoken  to  me.  Your  words  have  always  been 
too  precious  to  me  to  lose.  But,  until  now,  we  surely 
have  exchanged  not  a  syllable  this  night  in  regard 
to — " 

"  Ah,  Monsieur  Frederick !  how  can  this  be  so, 
when,  but  a  little  while  since,  we  were  interrupted 
by  that  ever-troublesome  Parisian,  who  would  be  a 
Count  Poniatowski  ?" 

"  You  have  been  deceived,  Marie.  I  was  not  pre- 
sent at  any  such  interruption." 

"Impossible !" 

"  It  is  true !  This  is  the  first  time  to-night  that 
I  have  been  honored  with  your  conversation." 

"Ciel!  and  to  whom  have  I  spoken?" 

It  was  a  reflection  to  horrify  a  sensitive  spirit,  that 
a  secret  so  precious  to  a  woman's  heart  and  dignity 
should  have  been  committed  to  a  stranger,  in  the  full 
conviction  that  it  was  unfolded  to  the  only  person  in 
whom  she  really  felt  an  interest. 

The  insidiously  mysterious  manner  in  which  the 
confession  had  been  drawn  from  her,  oppressed  her 
with  a  strange  yet  undefinable  sense  of  terror.  Bran- 
don himself,  though  profoundly  indignant  at  the  base- 
ness of  the  manoeuvre  by  which  she  had  been  imposed 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  43 

upon,  restrained  the  warmer  expression  of  his  own 
feelings,  and  sought  by  every  means  in  his  power  to 
soothe  the  agitation  under  which  she  so  visibly  labored. 
But  his  efforts  did  not  wholly  succeed.  Her  subse- 
quent responses  showed  that  her  mind  still  dwelt  fear- 
fully upon  the  incident ;  and  when,  at  length,  the 
interview  terminated,  her  last  lingering  glance  was 
overshadowed  with  a  sad  and  mournful  presentiment 
of  coming  evil. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE  SECRET  INTERVIEW — ALARM  AND  MYSTERY. 

THIS  was  the  substance  of  what  I  got  from  Bran- 
don, of  what  had  taken  place  between  Marie  de  Ber- 
niere  and  himself.  It  is  probable  I  should  not  so 
soon  have  been  permitted  to  know  the  progress  he 
had  made,  had  it  not  been  for  the  present  difficulty, 
in  which  my  assistance  was  required.  I  told  him  of 
the  Egyptian  whom  I  had  accosted,  and  confounded 
with  himself — of  his  not  noticing  my  address,  and 
eluding  my  pursuit. 

"  He,  then,  is  the  intruder,"  was  Brandon's  reply ; 
"  for  I  certainly  have  not  been  near  you,  not  even 
in  the  room,  since  we  parted,  when  I  left  you  looking 
at  your  watch.  You  must  join  me,  William,  in  the 
search  after  him.  Let  us  separate  for  this  purpose. 
You  take  one  route,  I  the  opposite.  If  you  find  him, 
stick  by  him  till  I  find  you." 


44  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

We  were  just  about  to  separate,  each  turning  for 
the  purpose,  when,  at  the  same  moment,  we  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  very  mask  that  we  prepared  to  seek. 
His  habit  seemed  the  fac-simile  of  that  of  Brandon. 
His  person,  in  bulk  and  height,  was  precisely  like. 
No  wonder  that  Madame  de  Berniere  had  been  de- 
ceived. There,  too,  might  be  seen  a  triangle  hang- 
ing from  his  left  arm,  while  his  right  hand  grasped 
a  scroll  of  unrolled  papyrus ;  items  not  necessary 
to  the  costume,  but  about  which  I  remember  to 
have  observed  that  Brandon  was  particularly  solici- 
tous. To  note  these  things  did  not  consume  a 
second.  Meanwhile,  we  made  up  to  the-  intruder. 
Brandon  instantly  approached  him.  His  anxiety,  in 
regard  to  the  lady  of  his  love ;  the  doubt  lest  she 
should  be  in  any  way  compromised ;  the  vexatious 
reflection  that  the  other  had  listened  to  a  precious 
confession,  meant  only  for  his  own  ear ;  nay,  the 
painful  conviction  that  the  stranger,  himself,  in  the 
character  of  Brandon,  had  drawn  forth  this  confession 
— these  considerations  had  all  combined  to  warm  my 
friend  with  resentments  which  none  but  he  could  have 
so  well  suppressed,  and  which  were  struggling  ener- 
getically for  utterance  within  his  bosom.  They  made 
him  equally  prompt  and  decided.  He  tapped  the 
stranger  on  his  shoulder.  The  other  turned  quietly 
without  a  start,  with  the  air,  indeed,  of  a  person  by 
whom  the  salutation  was  expected.  Brandon  led  him 
aside,  I  following  closely. 

"  A  word  with  you,  sir." 

"  A  dozen,  if  you  please,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  in 
cold  monotonous  accents. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  45 

"You  are  accommodating.  It  may  require  as 
many.  Suffer  me  then  to  ask,  sir,  who  you  are,  and 
by  what  right  are  you  here  ?" 

"  Really,  venerable  brother,  you  challenge  my 
rights  as  if  your  own  were  exclusive.  I  might  re- 
turn your  question  with  some  propriety.  But  go  to 
Madame  de  Berniere — she  can  better  reply  to  your 
question." 

u  The  evasion  will  not  serve  you,  sir.  It  is  by  her 
that  I  am  commissioned  to  make  the  demand." 

"  Ah !  it  is  by  her,  then  !  Well,  sir — go  to  her, 
and  say  that  if  she  desires  it,  I  will  unmask  for  her 
satisfaction,  in  her  presence.  But,  mark  me,  in  her 
presence  only." 

"Enough!  —  William,  do  you  remain  with  the 
stranger.  See  that  he  does  not  escape  you." 

This  was  said  in  a  whisper;  and  without  the  pause 
of  a  second,  Frederick  disappeared.  Our  simulacrum, 
meanwhile,  was  in  no  way  disquieted.  Our  proceed- 
ings had  not  been  so  quietly  conducted  but  that  they 
had  reached  other  ears,  and  curious  eyes  were  begin- 
ning to  peer  about  us.  Meanwhile,  Brandon  had 
sought  his  mistress.  She  received  him  with  an 
eagerness  proportioned  to  her  anxiety.  He  commu- 
nicated what  had  taken  place  between  himself  and 
the  stranger. 

"  Insolent !"  was  the  exclamation  of  the -haughty 
beauty,  now  thoroughly  aroused. 

"  Say  but  the  word,  dear  Marie,"  was  the  whisper 
of  Frederick  Brandon,  "  and  I  will  fling  him  from  the 
window." 


46  MARIE  DE  BEKNIERE; 

He  was  the  person  to  have  done  it  without  a  word. 
But  the  fair  hostess  declined  his  proffered  service. 

"No!  no!  Frederick,"  she  answered,  with  a  de- 
lighted smile  ;  "  no;  that  would  only  spoil  the  assem- 
bly. Besides,  it  may  be  some  friend  or  acquaintance 
— some  one  recently  arrived  in  the  city — who  knows 
me  well,  and  who  should  have  been  invited.  There 
may  be  some  mistake.  I  grant  him  the  interview. 
Conduct  him  to  the  opposite  apartment,  to  which  I 
will  lead  the  way.  You  will  wait  upon  us,  Frederick, 
at  the  door." 

The  instructions  were  not  given  unheard.  By  the 
time  that  Brandon  got  back  to  the  spot  where  he  had 
left  me  with  the  stranger,  there  was  quite  a  smart 
little  excitement  in  the  assembly.  We  were  the  cen- 
tre of  a  ring — the  observed  of  all  observers  ;  though, 
by  the  way,  the  excitement  was  mostly  due  to  the 
opinion,  generally  entertained,  that  this  affair  was 
only  the  beginning  of  some  new  surprise — something 
dramatic — which  had  been  devised  by  our  ingenious 
hostess,  for  the  amusement  of  her  guests.  I  was  not 
a  little  disquieted,  you  may  be  sure,  by  the  novelty 
of  my  position ;  not  so  with  my  Egyptian.  He  re- 
mained in  a  state  of  the  most  perfect  composure, 
neither  seeming  to  see,  nor  to  feel,  the  increasing 
curiosity  and  numbers  of  the  circle  around  us.  Those 
of  us,  myself  among  the  number,  who  did  not  believe 
him  to  be  a  part  of  the  entertainment,  began  now  to 
consider  him  some  old  friend  of  the  family,  who  had 
just  arrived  from  the  river,  and  had  found  his  way  to 
the  mansion,  designing  a  pleasant  surprise  to  its 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  47 

mistress.  The  coincidence  of  costume  was  a  trifling 
difficulty  only,  which  a  single  moment  of  conjecture 
easily  overcame.  At  length  Brandon  made  his  ap- 
pearance, and  relieved  me  of  my  trust.  He  communi- 
cated to  the  stranger  the  consent  of  Madame  de 
Berniere  to  receive  him  in  private,  and  with  no  more 
words,  they  proceeded  together  in  the  direction  of  the 
chamber  assigned  for  interview.  I  followed  close 
behind  the  two,  and  was  followed,  in  turn,  by  some 
dozen  others,  curious  to  pry  into  the  mystery,  and  to 
retail  it  to  the  multitude.  When  we  reached  the  door 
where  Madame  de  Berniere  awaited  the  stranger, 
both  himself  and  Brandon  entered  the  room.  The 
door  was  instantly  closed  behind  them,  and  locked ; 
the  key  being  taken  into  my  hands.  In  a  moment 
after,  however,  a  tapping  from  avithin  caused  me  to 
open  it,  and  Brandon  came  out ;  the  stranger  having 
positively  refused  to  unmask  as  long  as  he  was  pre- 
sent. My  friend  was  anxious  and  uneasy — that  I 
could  perceive  only,  as  he  did  not  once  look  upon  me; 
but  he  suffered  his  emotions  to  be  seen  in  no  other 
way.  We  could  hear  the  soft,  dignified  tones  of 
Madame  de  Berniere  within,  for  a  few  sentences 
apparently ;  but  the  words  were  undistinguishable. 
These  were  followed  by  a  subdued  manner.  A  pause 
ensued,  and  the  murmuring  sounds  were  renewed.  A 
single  word  apparently,  spoken  by  Madame  de  Ber- 
niere rather  loudly,  then  engaged  our  attention ;  and 
Brandon  turned  quickly  to  the  door ;  but  paused,  in 
consequence  of  the  silence  that  followed.  This  was 
broken  once  more  by  a  brief  murmur,  which  the 


48  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

voice  of  our  hostess  was  heard  to  interrupt  by  the 
single  exclamation — "  Oh !"  which  we  distinctly  caught 
without.  The  murmuring  continued  for  several  seconds 
and  suddenly  subsided;  the  pause  might  have  been 
for  half  a  minute — a  deep  silence — broken  by  such  a 
shriek  from  Madame  de  Berniere — a  shriek  of  horror, 
of  agony,  and  of  the  wildest  terror,  such  as  I  hope 
never  to  hear  again.  This  was  succeeded  by  a  grating 
sound,  the  noise  of  a  falling  body,  with  the  rattle  and 
crash  of  a  chair  which  seemed  to  have  been  crushed 
in  the  same  instant.  The  whole  thing  was  over  in  a 
moment,  and,  in  the  next,  not  waiting  for  me  to  open 
the  door,  Frederick  Brandon  drove  it  from  its  fasten- 
ings with  a  single  application  of  his  foot.  We  rushed 
in,  followed  by  a  crowd,  and  there  lay  the  beautiful 
Marie  de  Berniere,  prostrate,  senseless,  with  her  face 
prone  upon  the  floor.  But  the  Egyptian  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen !  How  had  he  escaped  ?  The  windows 
were  all  closed ;  he  had  not  passed  by  us,  that  was 
certain.  There  was  but  one  other  door  to  the  chamber; 
and  that  led  into  the  ball-room,  and  was  locked,  with 
the  key  withdrawn.  There  was  some  strange  and 
terrible  mystery !  "We  turned  for  its  solution  to  the 
lovely  hostess.  She  was  already  raised  and  supported, 
in  the  arms  of  Brandon.  Not  a  word  escaped  him, 
and  but  for  the  pallor  upon  his  cheeks,  and  the  great 
blue  corded  vein  upon  his  forehead — swollen  to  a  de- 
formity— and  but  for  the  close  compression  of  his 
lips,  none  would  have  thought  that  he  suffered  any  but 
the  most  ordinary  emotion ;  his  calls  for  help  were 
so  calmly  spoken — his  orders  so  deliberately  given 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  49 

— his  nerves  so  firm — his  strength  so  entirely  un- 
shaken !  He  raised  and  bore  the  fair  victim  to  a  sofa. 
Her  lips  were  livid — bloodless  quite — her  eyes  open 
wide,  and  glaring  upon  us,  but  set  and  glassy,  with  a 
terrible  vacancy  of  gaze,  that  declared,  much  more 
emphatically  than  any  speech,  the  degree  of  terror 
and  affright  to  which  she  had  been  so  unaccountably 
subjected. 

Some  hours  elapsed  before  she  recovered  her  con- 
sciousness, during  which  period  it  was  for  some  time 
doubtful  if  life  remained  or  not,  within  her  heart. 
Meanwhile,  the  company  had  departed — all  but  one  or 
two  near  kinswomen,  and  Madame  de  Chateauneuve 
and  Frederick  Brandon,  who  refused  to  leave  her  until 
she  had  recovered  consciousness.  This. she  did,  about 
daylight ;  but  more  than  a  day  elapsed  before  she  had 
recovered  her  reason. 

What  remains  of  our  story  must  be  resumed  for 
other  and  perhaps  longer  chapters. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WE  resume  our  narrative.  Our  readers,  we  trust, 
will  not  have  forgotten  the  condition  in  which  we  left 
the  lovely  Marie  de  Berniere.  Her  reason  had  quite 
returned  to  her  in  the  space  of  the  twenty-four  hours 
immediately  following  the  mysterious  fright  from 
which  she  had  so  singularly  suffered;  but  her  strength 
5 


50  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

was  recovered  much  more  slowly.  For  a  long  time 
she  remained  an  invalid.  Her  system  had  received 
a  shock  against  which  her  elasticity  of  mood  offered 
but  feeble  resistance.  Meanwhile,  her  friends  gathered 
about  her  with  fond  solicitude.  Among  these,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  most  conspicuous,  were  Brandon 
and  his  sister.  These  were  constant  in  their  atten- 
tions, and  deeply  interested  in  the  progress  of  her 
recovery.  Her  physician,  one  of  the  most  skilful  in 
that  day  and  city,  could  afford  her  but  little  assist- 
ance. It  was  the  mind  which  had  received  the  blow. 
The  sufferings  of  the  body  arose  only  from  the  ailments 
of  the  soul.  She  herself  felt  this,  and  it  was  to  her 
priest,  rather  than  her  physician,  that  she  looked  for 
succor  chiefly.  Father  Paulo  Roquetti  was  frequently 
beside  her  couch.  He  was  an  Italian;  a  grave  elderly 
man,  of  mild,  benevolent  manners,  and  broad  great 
forehead,  which  had  been  smoothed  quite  as  much  by 
thought  and  study  as  by  the  tonsure.  He  was  a 
learned  man,  a  Jesuit,  possessing  a  profound  know- 
ledge of  human  nature,  and  with  just  the  capacity  to 
try  and  fathom  the  most  secret  sources  of  mental  ex- 
citation and  anxiety.  Under  his  guidance,  from  her 
childhood  the  spiritual  guide  in  her  mother's  family, 
the  ardent  nature  of  Marie  de  Berniere  had  become 
greatly  schooled  and  counselled.  Her  imagination, 
eager  and  lively  always,  inclining  however  to  religion, 
had  been  tinctured  somewhat  with  superstition,  and 
the  will  of  the  woman,  which  was  in  all  other  respects 
strong  and  impulsive,  was,  where  matters  of  faith  and 
the  church  were  concerned,  as  easily  persuaded  and 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  51 

pliant  as  could  be  wished  by  the   most   exacting  of 
spiritual  fathers. 

Paul  Roquetti  did  not  show  himself  very  imperative 
as  a  guide  and  teacher ;  but  he  was  not  the  less  power- 
ful because  he  did  not  seem  greatly  inclined  to  use 
his  authority.  He  was  a  profound  master,  who  knew 
how  much  safer  it  was  to  shape  and  to  conduct,  than 
to  endeavor  to  compel  the  mind;  and  he  had  long 
since  discovered  that  the  temper,  which  only  showed 
itself  stubborn  under  the  opposition  of  another  will, 
might  be  rendered  sufficiently  ductile  if  persuaded  that 
it  simply  obeyed  its  own.  His  power  over  his  flock 
was  prodigious,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  because 
he  appeared  to  be  so  wholly  unconscious  that  he  pos- 
sessed any;  and  this  secret,  in  connection  with  his 
unquestionable  resources  of  thought  and  knowledge, 
left  his  authority  almost  without  limit  among  the 
more  religious  of  his  followers.  Marie  de  Berniere 
was  one  of  those  who  most  readily  acknowledged  his 
influence.  He  had  been  to  her  a  mild  and  indulgent 
father,  exhibiting  a  gentle  sympathy  which  had  won 
her  affections,  and  a  patient  judgment  which  had 
schooled  her  conduct  from  the  first  hours  of  her  girl- 
hood. If  she  had  anything  for  which  to  reproach 
him,  it  was  j;hat  he  had  counselled  obedience  to  those 
commands  of  her  mother,  which  had  allied  her  to  a 
man  whom  she  did  not  love,  and  subjected  her  to  a 
tyrant  who  could  provoke  no  other  feelings  than 
disgust  and  fear. 

Her  present  condition  naturally  drew  him  to  her 
bedside,  and  he  became  very  soon  the  counsellor  to 


52  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

whom  she  most  deferred.  We  shall  see  the  natural 
reason  for  this  hereafter.  Her  other  friends  gradu- 
ally withdrew,  assured  of  her  continued  improvement, 
while  regretting  that  it  should  be  so  slow.  There 
were  sufficient  motives  for  Madame  de  Chateauneuve, 
the  sister  of  Frederick  Brandon,  lingering  after  all 
the  rest,  in  attendance  upon  her  suffering  friend.  But 
even  she  discovered,  after  a  little  while,  that  the  un- 
happy widow  yielded  only  a  reluctant  ear  to  worldly 
concerns,  preferring  altogether  those  of  a  solemn  and 
spiritual  nature.  She  felt  this  apparent  slight,  but 
had  no  reproaches.  Her  duty  to  her  brother  required 
that  she  should  not  seem  to  perceive  what  she  could 
not  help  but  feel.  Her  visits,  in  turn,  became  less 
frequent,  and  it  was  only  occasionally  that  she  made 
her  appearance  in  the  chamber  of  the  invalid ;  and 
this,  too,  quite  as  frequently  in  compliance  with  the 
requisition  of  Frederick,  as  because  of  her  own  de- 
sires or  sense  of  duty. 

Meanwhile,  the  little  world  of  New  Orleans  was 
full  of  reports  in  regard  to  the  cause  of  terror  which 
had  dismissed  the  guests  at  the  bal  masque  of  the 
fair  widow,  in  such  "admired  disorder."  Who  was 
the  Egyptian,  whose  personation  of  my  friend's  cos- 
tume had  enabled  him  to  compass  his  affaire  de  coeur 
with  Madame  de  Berniere — who  had  visited  her  with 
such  a  mortal  fright,  and  had  finally  disappeared  so 
unaccountably  ?  The  town  had  its  solution  of  all  the 
mystery,  but,  though  it  would  not  exactly  anticipate 
our  own,  we  must  forbear  to  give  it.  Enough,  that  a 
most  frightful  story  was  in  circulation,  which  furnished 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  53 

equal  material  for  scandal  and  superstition.  I  sup- 
pose I  heard  the  story  quite  as  soon  as  anybody  else, 
and  with  much  more  disquiet  than  the  crowd.  I 
had  already  broached  the  subject  of  the  bal  masque, 
and  the  fright,  to  Frederick,  but  he  either  was  un- 
willing or  unable  to  give  me  any  clue  to  the  mystery. 
He  had  been  permitted  a  private  interview  with 
Madame  de  Berniere,  yet  neither  that  nor  those  which 
his  sister  had  enjoyed,  had  resulted  in  any  discoveries. 
The  unhappy  object  of  this  mystery  shrunk  from  all 
explanation,  and  her  health  was  quite  too  delicate  to 
permit  even  the  least  scrupulous  curiosity  to  press  the 
inquiry  upon  her.  But  there  had  been  long  and  un- 
disturbed conferences  between  herself  and  Father 
Roquetti,  and,  in  all  probability,  she  had  fully  re- 
vealed herself  to  him.  It  is  certain  that,  for  some 
weeks  after  the  affair,  nothing  was  known,  positively, 
to  Frederick  Brandon  or  his  sister,  calculated  to 
satisfy  their  doubts  or  make  them  confident  of  their 
knowledge. 

In  all  this  time,  Frederick  Brandon  was  sufficiently 
miserable.  I  conversed  with  him  frequently,  anxious 
to  feel,  yet  without  seeking  to  probe,  the  condition  of 
his  mind.  But  his  unwonted  taciturnity  spoke  vo- 
lumes, when  I  remembered  his  character  and  disposi- 
tion. He  had  been  latterly  suffered  to  see  Marie  de 
Berniere  on  several  occasions,  but  for  a  brief  space 
only  at  every  visit.  At  such  periods  there  were  always 
other  persons  present;  the  priest,  his  own  sister,  or 
some  of  her  kinswomen.  At  these  times  her  treat- 
ment of  Frederick  had  been  distinguished  by  a  marked 

5* 


54  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

regard;  though  she  spoke  but  little  with  him,  and 
then  only  on  indifferent  topics.  Frequent  sighs  broke 
from  her  during  these  interviews,  and  her  eye  perused 
him  always  with  fondness,  and  dwelt  with  a  sad  and 
significant  earnestness  on  the  deep,  devoted  glances 
which  spoke  from  his.  All  this  was  enough  to  trouble 
my  friend;  but  his  mind,  if  disturbed  and  unhappy, 
was  by  no  means  disordered.  It  never  once  lost  its 
balance. 

He  said  to  me,  returning  one  day  from  a  visit  to 
the  dwelling  of  Marie — 

"  I  may  as  well  confide  to  you.  William,  that  I  was 
engaged  to  her.  She  consented,  the  very  day  of  the 
night  of  the  bal  masque,  and  in  the  very  apartment 
in  which  she  received  her  fright.  Since  that  time, 
we  have  not  once  had  an  opportunity  of  speaking  in 
private  together,  and,  hitherto,  she  has  evidently 
sought  to  avoid  such  an  interview.  At  this  juncture, 
I  dare  not  remonstrate  against  this.  I  must  submit ; 
without  complaint,  or  even  expostulation.  Her  life  is 
quite  too  precious,  and  her  condition  too  perilous,  to 
suffer  me  to  annoy  her  by  a  reference  to  any  exciting 
matter.  But,  from  what  I  see,  my  instincts  persuade 
me  that  she  is  preparing  to  free  herself  from  our  en- 
gagement. I  do  not  mean  by  this  that  she  is  at  all 
anxious  to  do  so.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  no  idle  vanity 
that  assures  me  of  the  extreme  reluctance  with  which 
she  will  submit  to  what  appears  an  inevitable  necessity. 
She  will  defer  it  for  some  '  time  longer — to  the  very 
last  moment ;  and  the  very  suspense — the  anxiety — 
this  constant  brooding  over  the  one  purpose — will  pro- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  55 

long  her  infirmity,  and  keep  her  suffering  as  well  in 
body  as  in  mind.  But  that  she  is  preparing  to  come 
to  this  determination,  I  foresee;  and  I  am  strengthen- 
ing myself,  as  well  as  I  can,  against  the  shock." 

"  But  what  has  she  said  to  lead  you  to  this  appre- 
hension?" 

"  Not  a  syllable  ;  but  words  are  by  no  means  neces- 
sary in  such  cases.  I  see  it  in  her  looks,  and  feel  it 
as  the  consequence  of  her  actions.  My  presence 
brings  her  equally  pain  and  pleasure.  Her  eyes  fill 
as  I  approach  her,  and  she  wrings  my  hand  with  the 
grasp  of  one  who  takes  a  farewell.  There  are  a 
thousand  indefinable  things  which  enable  one  who 
feels  quickly  and  keenly,  to  understand ;  and  that 
which  I  tell  you  I  believe,  I  almost  feel  that  I  know." 

"And  you  will  submit  to  lose  her  ?" 

"  I  have  not  said  that !  But  you  will  perceive  that 
her  determination  must  be  occasioned  by  the  events 
of  that  fatal  night.  Now  it  is  important  that  we  get 
at  a  solution  of  that  mystery.  What  my  argument 
will  be,  must  depend  upon  her  revelation ;  for  which 
I  wait  impatiently.  It  will  come  soon.  If  she  loves 
me  truly  and  deeply,  as  I  believe,  she  will  tell  me  all. 
This  she  will  feel  as  due  to  me,  and  to  herself,  par- 
ticularly, for  her  own  justification,  if  her  purpose  be 
to  discard  me.  But  I  have  broached  the  subject  to 
you  for  a  special  reason.  You  spoke,  yesterday,  of 
your  purpose  to  return  soon  to  Tennessee.  This  you 
must  not  think  of  at  present — not,  at  least,  until  my 
affair  is  fully  settled.  I  feel  that  I  shall  want  you. 
I  have  suspicions  of  foul  play  in  this  business,  and  I 


56  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

need  the  assistance  of  a  friend  in  whose  fidelity  I  can 
put  every  trust." 

"Foul  play,  Frederick!  Whom  do  you  suspect?" 
"  Not  Marie,  of  course.  But  all  these  stories  about 
town,  and  which  find  supernatural  solution  of  this 
mystery,  are  pure  absurdities.  But  they  are  not  the 
less  credible  among  the  greater  number.  It  is  under- 
stood, of  course,  that  this  Egyptian  is  at  the  bottom 
of  the  affair.  To  discover  who  he  is,  is  the  first  im- 
portant matter.  I  take  for  granted  that  he  is  an 
enemy  of  mine — most  probably  he  is  an  admirer  of 
Marie.  Do  you  remember  his  manner  when  we  first 
encountered  him  ?  His  haughty  carriage — scornful 
gesture — the  cold  insolence  of  his  tone — the  dry 
brevity  of  his  answers — all  full  of  defiance?  These, 
at  the  moment,  struck  me  as  evidence  of  hostility." 
"  I  remember  !  And  you  regard  him  as  a  rival?" 
"  Surely,  what  else  ?  He  has  evidently  a  design 
upon  her,  and  it  is  equally  apparent  that  he  possesses 
a  strange  power  over  her.  What  is  this  power,  and 
who  is  he  ?  I  have  been  vainly  racking  my  brain  for 
an  answer.  I  know  the  fate  of  all  those  who  aspired 
to  her  hand.  She  dismissed  Bonneville ;  she  slighted 
and  despised  De  Castries.  Miravent  was  not  more 
fortunate.  I  can  recall  no  more.  None  of  these  are 
now  in  attendance  upon  her.  Bonneville  has  gone 
north,  De  Castries  is  in  France,  and  Miravent  visits 
the  house  no  longer." 

"May  not  one  of  the  two  former  have  returned?" 
"I  should  have  heard  of  it.     It  is  more  probable 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  57 

that  there  is  some  new  candidate  in  the  field.  And 
yet.  how  any  such  could  have  wrought  such  results  ?" 
"  Could  they  have  slandered  you  to  her  ?" 
"  Very  probably ;  yet  I  fear  nothing  from  this 
quarter.  If  they  had,  it  would  have  provoked  her 
scorn — her  indignation  only — and  not  her  terrors. 
Besides,  she  would  have  instantly  told  me  all.  No, 
no  !  There  is  something  more  than  this.  It  is  very 
strange,  certainly ;  but  I  shall  soon  hear  from  her, 
and  then  I  will  fathom  the  mystery,  if  there  be  any, 
so  help  me,  Heaven  !" 

Here  our  conference  ended  for  the  time.  The  very 
next  day,  my  friend  was  summoned  to  an  interview 
with  Marie  de  Berniere.  We  must  reserve  the  rest 
for  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  INTERVIEW. 

FREDERICK  BRANDON  eagerly  obeyed  the  summons 
of  his  mistress.  He  was  fortunate  in  finding  the  love- 
ly invalid  alone.  The  meeting  was  evidently  designed 
for  him.  She  was  still  feeble,  and  apparently  quite 
as  great  a  sufferer  in  mental  respects  as  ever.  She 
received  him  in  her  chamber  in  tears  and  silence. 
He  grasped  her  hand  and  held  it  without  speaking. 
Thus,  for  a  while,  they  both  remained,  both  seeming 
equally  reluctant  to  begin  the  work  of  explanation,  and 
waiting,  as  it  were,  for  some  happy  inspiration  to 


58 

shape  the  course  of  an  interview  which  promised  to 
be  full  of  embarrassments.  The  reluctance  of  Frede- 
rick arose  entirely  from  his  sympathy  for  her  situa- 
tion. He  dared  not  add  to  her  distress  by  urging  his 
own  anxieties.  She  felt  the  delicacy  of  his  considera- 
tion, and,  at  length,  though  with  a  very  decided  effort, 
she  began  the  conference — 

"Frederick  !— " 

"Dear  Marie!" 

She  proceeded : — 

"I  have  summoned  you,  dear  Frederick,  to  an 
interview  which  could  not  always  be  deferred.  How- 
ever painful  to  myself,  I  owe  it  to  you  to  come  to  an 
explanation  with  you.  In  giving  you  my  heart,  as  I 
have  done  irrevocably,  and  in  consenting  to  be  your 
wife — I  gave  you  a  right  to  know  all  that  concerns 
me,  and  all  with  which  my  heart  is  troubled.  And 
yet,  I  shrink — oh,  Frederick,  how  I  shrink  and  trem- 
ble at  the  necessity  which  compels  me — though  my 
heart  breaks  under  it — to  tell  you  that  we  must  rend 
apart  and  forever  the  links  which  bind  us,  and  which 
every  feeling  of  my  soul  would  only  persuade  me,  in 
spite  of  all  necessities,  to  bind  and  rivet  more  surely 
and  more  tenderly  than  ever !" 

"  Marie — dear  Marie — oh  !  wherefore  this  neces- 
sity?" 

"  Ah  !  you  may  well  inquire.  I  shall  speak  fear- 
lessly now.  It  is  with  no  shame,  dear  Frederick, 
that  I  confess  to  loving  you,  as  I  never  thought  to 
love  mortal  man  ;  as  I  never  loved  mortal  man  before. 
You  will — you  must — believe  me  ;  even  though  I  make 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  59 

this  avowal  at  the  very  moment  when  I  implore  you 
to  forget  me ;  and  when  I  propose  that  we  should 
sever  the  sweet  ties  that  we  so  fondly  strove  to  unite 
forever." 

Seeing  that  she  paused,  Frederick  replied  : — 

"  I  can  only  wonder,  but  not  answer  you,  dear 
Marie.  To  believe  in  your  love  for  me,  is  absolutely 
necessary  to  the  feeling  which  I  entertain  for  you. 
It  is  too  precious  a  faith  for  me  to  surrender  easily. 
I  will  not  make  vain  professions,  Marie  ;  but,  in  truth, 
you  must  be  well  assured  that  no  affection  in  my 
bosom  rivals  in  any  sort  the  devotion  which  it  brings 
to  you.  It  is  for  you  to  say,  why,  with  both  hearts 
thus  united  and  devoted,  there  should  be  a  necessity 
for  tearing  them  asunder.  What  is  this  necessity — 
what  this  terrible  mystery  which  is  to  prevail  against 
our  hopes  and  happiness?" 

"  Terrible,  indeed  !  most  terrible  !  Were  it  not  so, 
dear  Frederick,  would  I  have  the  courage,  the  heart, 
the  strength  for  this!" 

"Marie — I  cannot  doubt  that  you  have  been  the 
victim  to  a  great  terror !  I  have  witnessed  your  fright 
— your  agonies — and  the  overwhelming  affliction  which 
left  you  insensible  for  hours  in  these  arms!" 

"Was  it  in  your  arms  that  I  lay  then,  Frederick?" 
she  asked  tenderly. 

He  answered  by  pressing  her  hand  within  his,  and 
the  tears  then  gushed  from  her  eyes  as  from  a  fountain 
suddenly  relieved.  For  a  few  moments  he  was  silent, 
subdued  by  a  sympathy  which  he  found  it  difficult  to 
keep  from  the  exhibition  of  a  feminine  weakness  like 


60  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

her  own.  But  the  strength  of  the  man  prevailed. 
He  resumed — 

"  I  knew  your  courage,  Marie — your  energy,  re- 
solve, and  spirit ;  and  yet  I  saw  how  suddenly  and 
how  completely  they  were  prostrated  and  overthrown. 
I  can  conceive  how  great  must  have  been  your  terror; 
but  I  see  not  why  it  should  operate  against  that  union 
which  might  secure  you  against  any  such  annoyance 
or  suffering  hereafter." 

"Ah  !  if  it  could  !     If  it  could  !"  was  her  reply. 

"  And  why  should  it  not  ?  Do  you  suppose,  dear 
Marie,  that,  once  mine — my  wife — any  ruffian  would 
dare,  or  daring  would  escape  ?" 

"Hush!  hush!"  she  exclaimed,  looking  round  her 
with  shows  of  expectation  and  terror  in  her  counte- 
nance: "  Forbear,  Frederick,  you  know  not  what  you 
say,  or  whom  you  threaten.  Oh !  I  know  your 
strength  and  courage.  I  well  know  that,  under  your 
guardianship,  no  mortal  would  ever  venture  to  wrong 
or  to  offend  me.  But  it  is  no  mortal  danger  that  I 
dread !  Frederick,  do  you  not  believe  that  the  spi- 
rits of  the  dead  may  reappear  on  earth — may  seek 
those  whom  they  have  known — may  speak  words  of 
rebuke  and  warning  and  terror  to  the  living — may 
threaten  and  denounce — may  decree,  as  in  my  case, 
that  hearts  shall  be  torn  asunder,  and  hopes  be  tram- 
pled into  nothing — hopes,  the  fondest  and  sweetest 
that  ever  dawned  upon  the  soul  of  woman ! — Frederick, 
do  you  believe  all  this  ?" 

He  remained  silent  as  she  paused,  closely  observing 
her  features,  which  were  almost  convulsed ;  her  lips 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  61 

white  and  trembling — her  eyes  glaring  rather  than 
gazing  into  his  own — yet,  with  such  a  strange  union 
of  fondness  with  terror — such  devotion  with  such 
despair — that  his  own  heart  beat  with  increasing  pas- 
sion (rather  than  with  such  fears  as  her  words  might 
have  inspired)  to  behold  the  affection  which  was  so 
evident  in  hers.  His  silence  disquieted  her. 

"Speak!"  she  cried;  "speak  to  me,  dear  Frede- 
rick, and  tell  me  if  you  believe  these  things." 

"  Marie — to  answer  you,  I  must  be  calm  !  I  see 
that  this  mystery  is  somewhat  deeper  than  I  had 
reason  to  believe  it.  Let  me  entreat  you  to  be 
soothed — do  not  hurry  yourself;  yet  tell  me  all  your 
secret,  before  you  demand  my  answer  !" 

"Oh!  I  must  speak  hurriedly  if  I  would  speak  at 
all!  Frederick,  dear  Frederick — that  Egyptian — " 

"Ha!" 

"Was  Colonel  de  Berniere — " 

She  fell  back  gasping.  Frederick  supported  her 
head,  and  his  lips  were  pressed  tenderly  upon  her 
brow.  She  pushed  him  from  her. 

"I  forget!  I  forget!  Oh,  Frederick,  this  was  for- 
bidden. My  love  for  you  was  forbidden.  I  am  con- 
manded  to  fling  every  mortal  affection  from  my  heart 
— to  deny  you — to  deny  myself — to  forego  all  hopes 
of  human  happiness — every  dream  that  ever  spoke  to 
me  of  joy  on  earth  !"• 

"And  who  could  deny  you  this?  What  is  the 
power  to  decree  in  this  sort — to  pass  such  a  doom,  to 
utter  such  a  judgment?" 

"He  it  was — the  Egyptian!  He  said  it!  He! 
6 


62  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

The  spectre  of  my  deceased  husband.  He  knew  all ! 
He  told  me  all!  Our  vows,  our  engagements,  our 
meetings,  when  neither  of  us  dreamed  that  eye  beheld 
us — in  the  dim  shadows  of  the  evening,  and  we  had 
no  doubt  of  our  security,  and  no  feeling  but  that  of 
bliss!" 

"And  yet,  Marie,  all  this  knowledge  might  be  pos- 
sessed by  mortals  like  ourselves!  Excellent  friends 
may  have  been  upon  the  watch — jealous  rivals — 
slanderous  and  suspicious  neighbors !  A  shrewd 
guesser,  with  some  slight  knowledge,  might  plausibly 
conjecture  more ;  and  you  remember,  dear  Marie, 
that,  believing  this  Egyptian  to  be  myself,  you  spoke 
freely  to  him  of  this  very  matter." 

"  Oh,  were  these  all !  But  he  knew  more — he  told 
me  more.  Told  me,  Frederick,  of  things  of  which  you 
knew  nothing.  Laid  bare  to  me  secrets  of  my  own 
soul — miserable  secrets,  such  as  I  fondly  imagined 
were  safely  locked  up  in  the  closest  places  of  my  own 
bosom." 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes,  alas!  and  this  brings  me  to  another  painful 
necessity.  These  secrets,  Frederick,  shall  be  yours 
also.  You  shall  see  how  much  I  love  you — how 
entirely — even  at  the  moment  when  I  feel  called  upon, 
to  expose  such  secrets  as  may  perhaps  change  your 
affection  into  loathing !" 

"Never,  Marie!" 

"Ah!  we  shall  see  !  I  will  show  you  things  which 
I  had  thought  never  to  breathe  even  to  yourself;  and 
which,  probably,  but  for  this  event,  I  had  carried  with 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  63 

me  to  the  grave  unspoken.  But  I  owe  you  all  that 
is  in  my  heart,  though  it  humbles  me  to  the  earth  to 
be  compelled  to  lay  bare  the  story  of  its  wretched 
crimes  and  weaknesses!" 

"  Crimes,  Marie!" 

"Alas!  Crimes!  For  the  meditated  crime  is  for 
us  a  crime  already  committed,  Frederick.  It  is 
enough  that  the  heart  should  entertain  the  guilt ;  it 
needs  not  that  the  hand  should  execute  it  also.  I 
have  been  guilty,  in  purpose,  of  a  dreadful  crime; 
and  though  my  hand  forebore  the  meditated  act,  it  is, 
nevertheless — I  feel  it  so — a  crime  to  be  repented  of 
in  ashes  and  in  sackcloth ;  a  crime  to  make  me  quite 
unworthy  an  affection  such  as  yours!" 

"Alas,  my  Marie!  If  these  high  standards  of 
self-judgment  must  prevail,  who  is  worthy  ?  I  have 
my  crimes  also,  Marie." 

"  But  not  like  mine,  Frederick.  Hear  me,  for  I 
shall  relate  the  whole,  and  tell  it  truly.  I  will  with- 
hold nothing." 

"  Nay,  Marie,  speak  not,  I  entreat  you.  I  would 
rather  not  know.  If  we  are  to  be  torn  asunder — 
which  I  will  not  yet  suffer  myself  to  believe — I  would 
prefer  holding  you  enshrined  in  my  memory — as  you 
already  are  in  my  affections — as  the  pure  and  perfect 
being  that  I  thought  you  first." 

"But  this  is  now  impossible,  Frederick  !  Have  I 
not  already  declared  myself  guilty  ?  Your  thought 
will  brood  over  this  confession,  and  you  will  suspect 
me  of  crimes  of  another  sort  than  the  real.  It  is 
needful  that  I  should  tell  you  all.  You  must  listen 


64  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

for  my  sake.  It  is  needful  that  I  should  show  cause 
for  my  faith  in  this  terrible  visitation  ;  and  for  the 
submission  with  which  I  receive  its  commands." 

Long  and  sad  was  the  interval  of  silence  which 
succeeded  before  she  spoke  again.  She  sunk  back 
upon  the  couch  and  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands, 
as  if  to  shut  out  from  contemplation  the  necessity 
before  her,  and  to  recover  the  needed  strength  for 
the  task  which  she  had  declared  her  resolution  to 
perform.  Frederick,  meanwhile,  with  his  elbow  rest- 
ing upon  the  pillow,  had  shaded  his  eyes  also.  He 
was  in  deep  and  anxious  contemplation— suffering 
greatly  from  misgiving  of  various  kinds,  and  brood- 
ing upon  what  he  had  already  heard.  He  had  already, 
in  some  degree,  prepared  his  mind ;  and  his  future 
purposes  had  also,  though  vaguely  and  entirely  a 
shadow,  been  presented  to  his  vision.  At  length  the 
silence  was  broken  by  his  companion.  Marie  de 
Berniere  raised  her  head  and  gently  laid  her  hand  on 
the  wrist  of  her  lover.  He  still  remained  silent,  his 
eyes  tenderly  fixed  upon  her,  with  a  sort  of  paternal 
sadness — that  seemed  to  deplore  the  self-delusion  of 
the  beloved  object — fatal  to  itself — yet  against  which 
he  had  no  argument  of  strength  for  safety.  His 
eyes  declared  fully  his  belief  that  she  labored  under 
a  delusion ;  yet  showed  the  sorrows  of  one  who, 
at  the  same  time  that  he  felt  this  conviction,  lacked 
the  necessary  means  of  making  his  conviction  hers. 
She  discerned  the  meaning  in  his  glance. 

"You  think  me  a  foolish  creature,  Frederick — 
deceived  by  my  own  fears  and  superstitions.  I  wish  I 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  65 

could  persuade  myself  to  think  as  you  do.  Believe 
me,  I  have  nothing  but  pain  and  sorrow  in  the  task 
before  me  ;  and  nothing  but  hopelessness  in  the  future 
which  lies  beyond.  And  next  to  my  prayer  for 
pardon,  is  that  which  implores  that  the  penance  be  a 
short  one.  But  hear  my  story — hear  me,  and  decide. 
I  shall  unfold  it  all ;  and  hope,  at  least,  that  when 
you  have  heard  my  sufferings,  you  will  see  some  little 
apology  for  my  guilt.  If  it  should  forfeit  me  the 
love  you  gave  me,  at  least  it  will  not  rob  me  of  your 
pity." 

He  took  her  hand  tenderly  within  his  own,  and 
she  began  her  narrative  as  follows  : — 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE  REVELATION. 

"You  know  my  early  history,  Frederick,  as  much 
of  it  as  need  to  be  known  in  connection  with  my  pre- 
sent narrative.  You  are  aware  that,  when  a  mere 
child,  I  was  condemned  to  marry  a  man  twenty  years 
olofer  than  myself,  and  for  whom  I  had  no  feelings 
but  indifference  and  fear.  At  first,  this  feeling  was 
indifference  only ;  and  in  the  end  it  became  dislike  as 
well  as  fear.  I  was  quite  too  young  when  I  married, 
properly  to  understand  the  obligations  of  marriage, 
of  its  peculiar  interests,  its  duties  and  desires.  Ha(J 
I  known,  the  marriage  vows  never  would  have  crossed 
these  lips,  in  relation  to  the  person  who  was  then 

6* 


66  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

decreed  to  be  my  husband.  I  was  taken  from  school, 
almost  from  the  baby-house  and  doll,  to  become  a 
bride.  My  poor  mother,  of  whom  I  would  say  no 
evil,  was  one  of  those  persons,  of  whom  the  world 
always  has  its  multitude,  who  regard  wealth  as  the 
something  all  compensative,  for  which  any  sacrifice  is 
justifiable.  She  knew  not  any  affections  that  could  be 
put  in  opposition  to  the  show  and  splendor  which  it 
promised ;  and,  believing  that  I  had  beauty  and 
talents,  her  chief  solicitude  was  to  find  for  them  a 
market.  Of  her  purposes  I  knew  nothing,  until  the 
moment  when  I  learned  that  she  had  procured  for  me 
a  purchaser.  In  this  light  I  certainly  did  not  regard 
him  then.  Col.  de  Berniere  I  had  frequently  beheld 
before,  but  I  had  never  bestowed  a  single  thought 
upon  him.  His  person  I  knew  by  sight,  but  I  had 
always  regarded  him  with  indifference.  I  thought  no 
more  of  marrying  than  I  thought  of  him,  and  had  no 
definite  conception  of  the  condition  until  after  I  had 
become  a  wife.  I  had  been  accustomed  to  submit 
implicitly  to  the  will  of  my  mother,  and  I  did  so  on 
this  occasion,  as  on  all  others,  with  but  little  inquie- 
tude or  doubt.  She  bade  me  prepare  to  receive  Col. 
de  B.  as  a  husband,  long  before  he  had  been  at  any 
pains  to  persuade  me  that  he  was  a  lover.  Required 
to  marry  him,  the  indifference  which  I  had  felt  for 
him  before,  he  soon  contrived  to  ripen  into  a  stronger 
sentiment  of  aversion.  This  feeling,  which  I  did  not 
seek  to  subdue,  it  became  the  business  of  my  mother's 
life  to  rebuke  and  to  conceal.  She  silenced  all  my 
childish  complaints ;  she  schooled  my  love  into  sub- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  67 

mission  ;  she  trampled  down  every  resistance  that  my 
young  heart  ventured  to  offer  to  her  will.  I  went  to 
the  altar  with  fear  and  tremblings  which  were  omi- 
nous. But  my  fears  were  of  a  vague  character,  and  I 
did  not  certainly  dream  of  the  dreadful  tyranny  under 
which  I  was  about  to  fall.  At  that  early  dawn  of  my 
misfortunes,  it  was  dislike  and  doubt  which  I  felt, 
rather  than  dread  or  apprehension.  Any  conjectures 
of  what  the  future  was  really  to  produce,  were  totally 
absent  from  my  mind.  But  I  was  soon  tutored  by  a 
stern  experience.  I  cannot  go  through  the  details  of 
this  experience.  I  dare  not.  How  I  suffered,  how 
vain  were  my  appeals,  how  equally  vain  my  perform- 
ances— my  submission,  my  resignation,  the  entreaties 
which  I  offered,  the  efforts  which  I  made  to  disarm  the 
brutality  of  my  master,  or  to  bear  partially  his  yoke. 
Col.  de  Berniere  was  at  once  the  most  scornful  and 
the  most  suspicious  of  living  men.  He  quarrelled 
with  all  his  own  friends,  and  mine.  He  drove  them 
from  his  house.  With  more  than  one  of  them  did  he 
fight,  under  no  provocation  but  that  suggested  by  his 
own  brutal  humors — by  jealousy  and  intoxication ; 
and,  on  each  occasion  of  his  quarrel  with  others,  I  was 
compelled  to  endure  my  portion  of  his  caprice  and 
violence.  My  hope  was  not  allowed  to  grow.  My 
spirit  was  broken  in  repeated  conflicts,  in  which  even 
the  most  complete  submission  did  not  disarm  the  ty- 
ranny. I  seldom  left  the  house,  and  never  cared  to 
leave  it,  as  I  was  sure  of  the  most  cruel  abuse  when  I 
returned.  My  mother  soon  became  aware  of  my  sit- 
uation. She  knew  not  half,  but  quite  enough  to  make 


68  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

her  expostulate,  with  maternal  interest  and  warmth. 
Alas !  She  soon  found  that  though  she  had  the  power 
to  bind,  and  had  fatally  exercised  it,  she  no  longer 
possessed  the  power  to  loose.  Her  expostulations  in- 
creased the  evil.  He  drove  her  from  his  dwelling  with 
ignominy,  and  not  only  denied  her  entrance,  but  de- 
nied that  I  should  seek  or  see  her.  For  three  months 
did  I  submit  to  this  cruel  denial,  until  she  fell  sick. 
Her  illness  proved  fatal  in  the  end  ;  but  when  I  heard 
how  dangerously  ill  she  was,  I  stole  away  to  her  bed- 
side, just  in  time  to  receive  her  dying  prayer  and 
breath  in  my  bosom.  I  fondly  fancied  that  this  event, 
which  had  taken  from  me  the  nearest  relative  I  had 
on  earth,  would  commend  me  somewhat  to  the  pity  of 
my  master.  I  never  dreamed  that  I  should  receive 
censure  and  abuse  for  a  disobedience  to  his  commands, 
at  so  extreme  a  juncture ;  and  hastened  home  to  en- 
treat his  attendance  at  my  mother's  house,  and  his 
care  of  her  remains  till  buried.  I  met  him  in  the 
great  passage  below,  and  in  few  words,  but  with  many 
tears,  I  told  him  my  painful  news,  and  made  my  hum- 
ble request.  He  had  been  drinking — I  am  now  pre- 
pared to  do  him  the  justice  to  believe  that  he  knew 
not  well  what  I  had  related — understood  nothing,  per- 
haps, but  the  simple  fact  that  I  had  visited  the  house 
which  he  had  interdicted.  He  seized  me  by  the  hair 
of  my  head.  He  smote  me  to  the  earth.  He  left  me 
where  I  had  fallen,  insensible,  with  the  blood  gushing 
from  my  mouth  and  nostrils,  and  hurried  forth  once 
more,  not  to  seek  the  house  of  mourning,  but  to  join 
certain  comrades  in  a  midnight  revel." 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  69 

Here  Frederick  Brandon,  with  a  fierce  ejaculation, 
started  to  his  feet  and  paced  the  apartment.  A  pause 
ensued.  He  drew  nigh,  resumed  his  seat  beside  her, 
and  took  her  hand  silently  within  his  own.  He 
schooled  himself  with  a  firmness  perfectly  astonishing; 
for  his  heart  was  like  a  volcano,  ready  to  flame  and 
overflow.  She  continued: — 

"How  long  I  lay  in  this  condition,  stunned,  stupe- 
fied, or  in  convulsions,  I  know  not.  For  weeks  I 
scarcely  knew  anything,  but,  in  the  mean  time,  a  dead 
infant  was  born,  prematurely  sent  into  the  world,  and 
perishing  under  the  brutality  which  nearly  proved 
fatal  to  myself.  Of  all  this  I  knew  nothing.  Nature 
had  kindly  accorded  to  my  mind  a  degree  of  insensi- 
bility which  perhaps  saved  my  life.  Had  I  been  con- 
scious, anger,  indignation — rage  that  was  impotent — 
would  have  destroyed  me.  As  it  was,  when  my  senses 
returned  to  me,  and  I  could  remember  all  that  had 
taken  place,  the  awfullest  of  passions  possessed  my 
soul.  A  terrible  feeling  took  possession  of  my  bosom, 
and  here,  0  Frederick,  my  crime  begins.  Before 
this  period,  I  can  really  accuse  myself  of  little  that 
could  be  considered  guilt — childish  follies  there  were 
doubtlessly  enough.  I  was  a  child,  and  frequently  an 
erring  one.  I  had  been  guilty  of  a  weakness  rather 
than  a  crime,  when  I  took  the  solemn  vows  of  marriage 
at  the  altar ;  and  this  weakness  was  one  to  be  excused 
under  the  circumstances  ;  for  how,  with  such  a  will  as 
my  mother  possessed,  could  I  think  of  exercising  a 
will  of  my  own  ?  But  I  had  been  dutiful  and  submis- 
sive to  my  husband.  I  gave  up  all  my  friends,  all 


70 

society,  at  his  requisition ;  and  it  was  only  when  my 
parent  lay  on  her  dying  couch  that  I  ever  disobeyed 
his  commands.  To  the  period  when  he  smote  me  to 
the  ground,  I  feel  that  I  have  few  causes  of  self-re- 
proach— regarding  my  duties  as  a  wife  and  daughter. 
But  from  that  dreadful  moment,  Frederick  ! — Then  ! 
Then  !"— 

She  paused,  and  Brandon  was  conscious  that  her 
hand,  which  had  previously  lain  upon  his  own,  now 
grasped  his  fingers  convulsively.  He  looked  into  her 
face.  The  eyes  were  shut  and  the  lips  quivering.  He 
began  to  be  alarmed.  "Marie!"  he  exclaimed,  in 
accents  of  apprehension. 

"  Nay,  Frederick,  fear  nothing.  I  am  only  trying 
to  muster  all  my  strength.  Turn  your  eyes  away, 
dear  Frederick.  Humble  me  not  by  your  looks,  while 
I  am  unfolding  the  dreadful  purposes  which  have  once 
possessed  my  soul.  Oh!  how  rapidly  in  that  day  did 
I  then  think  and  resolve!  With  what  a  faculty  did 
memory  bring  before  mine  eyes  the  long  history  of  my 
sufferings  and  sorrows  ;  all  that  I  had  lost — all  that 
I  had  sacrificed — all  that  I  had  endured.  Never  did 
such  an  array  of  bitter,  dreadful,  and  humiliating  ex- 
periences rise  before  one  poor  human  imagination, 
without  maddening  the  mind,  and  setting  all  the  pas- 
sions in  a  flame — all  concentrating,  as  it  were,  in  one. 
A  dark  desire  for  revenge — for  escape  from  my  thral- 
dom— seized  upon  my  soul!  I  felt  called  by  my 
mother's  voice,  night  and  day,  to  take  the  life  of  my 
tyrant.  The  fancy  became  a  fixed  desire  in  my  mind. 
More  than  once  I  thought  to  seize  upon  a  knife  and 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  71 

stab  him  as  he  sat  before  me  at  the  table.  I  secreted 
a  knife  for  this  purpose.  I  was  haunted  by  the  mem- 
ory of  that  fierce  and  cruel  woman  in  Scripture,  who 
drove  the  nail  into  the  head  of  the  man  who  sought 
the  hospitality  of  her  dwelling.  I  secreted  a  nail, 
intending  to  emulate  her  crime.  But  it  was  in  proof 
that  conscience  was  busy  to  keep  me  from  the  deed, 
that  I  was  continually  seeking  to  change  the  mode  of 
its  execution.  I  abandoned  all  these  modes.  I  re- 
membered, finally,  that  there  was  a  deadly  poison  in 
the  house,  which  he  himself  had  employed  to  rid  the 
garden  of  the  cats  which  infested  it.  I  knew  where 
this  poison  was  kept.  It  was  convenient ;  in  that  very 
closet.  It  was  a  dark  whitish  powder,  the  name  of 
which  I  did  not  know.  '  Poison  for  cats'  was  the  in- 
scription upon  it,  and  I  had  heard  him  remark  that  a 
few  grains  only  would  prove  fatal  to  any  life.  I  pro- 
cured this  powder,  and  secreted  it  for  days — so  tena- 
ciously did  this  deadly  purpose  harbor  in  my  mind! 
At  length,  I  absolutely  mixed  it  in  a  bottle  of  the  wine 
which  I  that  day  expected  him  to  drink." 

Here  she  suddenly  caught  both  of  Brandon's  hands 
within  her  own,  and  bent  round  eagerly  to  look  into 
his  face.  As  she  beheld  its  expression,  she  cried — 

"Oh!  thanks  !  Thanks,  my  Frederick.  I  see  you 
do  not  loathe — you  will  not  hate  me?" 

"Hate  you?     Ah  Marie!" 

"Yes,  Frederick,  I  conceal  nothing.  In  that  closet 
did  I  mix  the  fatal  potion." 

He  turned  in  the  direction  pointed  out,  fixed  his 


72  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

eyes  curiously  upon  it,  but  said  nothing.     She  con- 
tinued— 

"But  God  be  praised,  the  voice  of  my  heart  at 
length  spoke  audibly  to  my  mind.  I  repented  me,  in 
season,  of  the  terrible  thought.  I  thrust  the  deadly 
purpose  from  my  soul.  I  flung  the  poisoned  liquid 
from  my  hands  almost  as  soon  as  I  had  mixed  it.  I 
hurried  to  yonder  window,  and  emptied  the  bottle  into 
the  garden.  Then,  beside  this  couch,  I  threw  myself 
upon  my  knees,  and  implored  the  blessed  Virgin  for 
succor  to  banish  all  such  feelings  from  my  breast.  I 
found  the  requisite  strength  in  prayer.  Never  again 
did  I  harbor  a  sinful  purpose  against  him.  Never  did 
a  hair  of  his  head  come  to  harm  through  me." 

"  Then  what  have  you  to  fear,  dear  Marie ;  and 
with  what,  above  all,  can  your  husband  now  reproach 
you?" 

"  Alas!  dear  Frederick,  who  shall  say  when  he  is 
received  to  mercy — when  he  is  acquitted  of  his  guilt 
— and  when  his  penance  shall  suffice  for  atonement  ?" 

"  Marie,  this  argument  is  not  your  own  ?" 

"  I  confess  it.  It  is  the  suggestion  of  Father 
Paulo." 

Brandon  smiled  slightly,  quietly  remarking — 

"It  struck  me  as  coming  from  a  theologian." 

She  proceeded — 

"  But  it  was  the  assurance  of  Col.  de  Berniere, 
himself,  that  other  sacrifices  were  required  at  my 
hands  before  my  atonement  could  be  complete  !  This 
is  the  decree  which  is  brought,  referring  to  the  awful 
crime  which  I  meditated  against  him.  For  this,  it  is 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  73 

required  that  I  should  deny  you  now — deny  myself — 
and  rather  shroud  myself  in  a  convent,  devoted  to 
God,  than  to  think  of  any  other  human  love !" 

"  Ha  !  Impossible  !  How  know  you,  Marie,  that 
this  Egyptian  was  a  spectre — that  he  was — ?" 

"  Alas,  Frederick !  did  he  not  show  me  those  awful 
features,  but  too  well  remembered,  at  once  of  death 
and  life  ? — features  known  too  soon,  and  feared  too 
long,  to  be  easily  forgotten  ?  Besides,  Frederick,  did 
he  not  unveil  to  me  my  own  terrible  secret — the 
meditated  crime,  which  was  to  precipitate  him  from 
life  to  judgment,  and  which  my  lips  had  never  before 
confided  to  any  mortal  keeping?" 

She  paused,  and  sank  back  upon  the  couch  ex- 
hausted. Brandon  again  rose  from  his  seat  and  paced 
the  apartment  in  silence. 

"  You  are  sure,  Marie,"  after  a  pause,  "  that  you 
never  once  breathed  this  secret  to  any  ear?" 

"  Oh,  sure  !  Oh,  sure  !  It  was  too  terrible  ! 
And  now — " 

Brandon  approached  and  whispered  to  her.  She 
answered  quickly — 

"  Ah !  that  was  sin  upon  sin!  I  reserved  that  from 
all  the  rest." 

She  would  have  continued,  but  he  arrested  her. 

"  No  more  on  this  point,  Marie  ;  I  have  a  reason 
for  it." 

She  remained  silent,  and  he  continued  to  pace  the 

floor ;  his  eye  seeming  to  wander  about  the  chamber 

in  a  manner  which  at  length  struck  the  attention  of 

Marie  de  Berniere,  and  filled  her  with  new  anxieties. 

7 


74  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

But  lie  motioned  her  to  continue,  and  she  suddenly 
resumed — 

"  How  could  I  question  this  visitation  ?  I  felt  the 
guilty  consciousness  of  crime,  and  here  came  to  me  the 
spectre  of  the  one  against  whose  life  I  entertained  it. 
He  lays  bare  to  me  my  criminal  heart.  He  commands 
me  to  deny  myself  to  man  and  to  society,  and  to  live 
only  for  penitence  and  God  !  How  can  I  doubt  this 
mission  ?  He  reveals  to  me  the  secrets  which  none 
but  myself  could  know,  of  all  the  living,  and  thus 
confirms  his  right  to  decree  and  to  denounce.  I  must 
submit  to  this  decree.  You  see  for  yourself,  dear 
Frederick,  that  we  must  part — " 

"  A  moment !  but  a  moment !"  was  the  response. 
"  Did  this  spectre — this  Egyptian — unfold  any  par- 
ticulars of  your  meditated  purpose  ?  Did  he  only 
state  the  fact,  or  did  he  exhibit  such  a  knowledge  of 
details?—" 

"  All !  all !  It  was  in  this  very  chamber  that  I 
mixed  the  fatal  potion — in  that  closet.  There,  said 
he,  could  that  closet  but  speak,  which  beheld  you  pre- 
pare the  poison — that  mantle  which  saw  you  place 
the  bottle  upon  it,  in  readiness  for  the  dinner-hour — 
that  casement  from  which  you  finally  cast  it  forth — 
those  plants  below  which  received  it,  or  that  pillow 
which  heard  your  ineffectual  prayer  for  pardon  !  Oh, 
Frederick,  he  knew  every  movement  of  my  soul !" 

The  eye  of  Brandon  brightened,  and  he  muttered 
to  himself — 

"  Every  movement   of  your  person,  rather.     The 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  75 

spectre  only  proves  that  he  knows  too  much]"  She 
did  not  distinguish  what  he  said. 

"  Speak  to  me,  Frederick  !  Oh  !  speak,"  was  the 
exclamation  of  Marie  de  Berniere.  u  See  you  not 
that  it  is  all  hopeless?" 

She  knew  not  well  what  she  said  herself.  But  as 
he  continued  to  walk  the  floor  in  silence,  her  agony 
of  soul  became  too  great  for  endurance,  and  raising 
herself  from  the  couch,  with  a  strength  which  was  due 
wholly  to  her  excited  feelings,  she  darted  forward  and 
seized  him  by  the  arm,  arresting  his  further  move- 
ment almost  by  violence.  He  took  her  tenderly  in 
his  embrace,  and  carried  her  back  to  the  couch. 
When  she  was  again  composed,  he  began — 

"It  is  not  to  be  expected,  dear  Marie,  that  I,  who 
have  loved  you  so  long  and  so  fervently,  should  give 
you  up  without  a  struggle.  I  have  built  too  fondly, 
too  profoundly,  on  your  love  for  me,  to  be  satisfied  to 
forego,  in  a  single  moment,  every  hope,  every  dream 
of  delight,  which  my  fancy  has  been  painting  for  my 
heart !  A  long  future  is  before  me — is  probably  be- 
fore us  both.  We  are  both  young,  and  I  dare  not 
doubt  that  affection  in  you,  which  I  feel  so  earnest  in 
myself.  Are  we  both  to  live,  and  live  desolate  ? 
Shall  the  long  years,  in  prospect,  be  uncheered  by 
any  sunshine  ?  Shall  no  love  blossom  and  brighten 
for  our  future  ?  Must  the  years  move  on  wearily  and 
slowly — cold,  unlighted  from  those  sources  of  happi- 
ness, of  which  blessed  glimpses  have  been  vouchsafed 
to  us  already — and  which  the  benevolent  Father  of 
mankind  seems  never  to  have  denied  to  any  of  his 


76  MARIE  BE  BERNIERE; 

creatures  ?  Can  I  easily  persuade  myself,  or  suffer 
you  to  believe,  that  He  has  especially  denied  to  us 
what  He  accords  usually  to  all.  I  cannot  bring  my- 
self to  this.  You  must  give  me  time  to  reconcile  my 
thoughts  to  this  necessity — to  school  my  heart  to  this 
privation — to  accommodate  my  nature  to  this  cheer- 
less future  of  isolation  which  is  to  make  us  both  pre- 
maturely old." 

"  Ah,  Frederick,  but  this  isolation  need  not  be 
yours !  -You  are  young  and  ardent.  You  will  be  re- 
conciled to  my  loss.  Other  women  will  compensate 

you." 

"Never!  dear  Marie,"  was  the  sad,  but  subdued 
reply.  "  I  am  no  changeling.  My  heart  yields 
slowly  to  the  charms  of  others,  and  becomes  fixed  as 
soon  as  it  becomes  fond.  Believe  this  assurance.  I 
will  not  asseverate.  It  is  not  my  wont.  But,  I  say 
to  you,  on  the  honor  of  a  heart  that  has  long  been 
satisfied  to  seek  yours  only,  that  if  I  lose  you  I  can 
gain  no  other — will  seek  no  other.  I  must  bury  my- 
self in  the  solitude  of  our  old  forests,  and,  perhaps, 
become  useful,  or  useless,  where  I  no  longer  expect 
to  become  happy.  Suffer  me,  then,  for  a  while,  the 
selfish  struggle  against  your  isolation.  Give  me  time 
to  examine  our  mutual  situation,  and  only  permit  me 
to  see  you,  at  occasional  periods,  alone.  You  may 
deny  me  your  hand — you  may  refuse  to  make  me 
happy  ;— this  may  be  the  final  decision  ;  but,  in  the 
mean  time,  permit  me,  sometimes,  should  I  desire  it, 
to  see  you  and  speak  with  you.  This  privilege  will 
not  prejudice  your  determination  ;  and,  when  you  re- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  77 

fleet,  Marie,  upon  the  sacrifice  you  call  upon  me  to 
make,  this,  probably,  is  quite  as  little  as  you  could 
grant." 

u  Alas  !  Frederick,  is  this  wise  in  you  to  ask  ? 
Will  it  be  wise  in  me  to  grant  ?  Will  not  such  meet- 
ings be  adverse  to  our  mutual  peace  ?" 

"  And  is  the  doom  before  us  now  so  very  favorable 
to  our  mutual  peace,  Marie  ?"  was  the  somewhat  re- 
proachful answer. 

She  was  silent. 

"  At  all  events,"  said  he,  "  suffer  me  to  see  you  to- 
morrow, and  once  or  twice  afterwards.  In  the  mean 
while  I  will  devote  all  my  thoughts  to  the  considera- 
tion of  what  you  ask,  and  what  I  am  required  to  sur- 
render." 

He  pressed  tenderly  the  hand  which  she  gave  him ; 
and  when  he  had  disappeared,  a  passion  of  tears  re- 
lieved, temporarily,  the  sorrows  of  the  poor  heart, 
that,  suffering  grievously  before,  was  compelled,  in 
secret,  to  admit  that  its  worst  miseries  were  never 
felt  till  now. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

STRATAGEM  AND  COUNTERMINE. 

THE  particulars  of  this  remarkable  interview  were 
given  to  me  by  Frederick  that  very  night.  I  may  as 
well  mention  that  the  story,  in  a  great  degree,  con- 
firmed the  truth  of  the  common  rumor  about  town.  It 

7* 


78  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

is  astonishing  how  such  things  leak  out,  or  hj  what  hap* 
py  instincts  the  great  multitude  conceive  the  particu- 
lar causes  of  trouble,  in  the  affairs  of  their  neighbors. 
There  were,  it  is  true,  many  conflicting  conjectures, 
in  regard  to  the  circumstances  of  terror  which 
had  dissolved  the  assembly  at  the  masquerade.  But 
that  which  gained  most  currency,  insisted  that  the 
Egyptian  was  the  husband ;  and  this  led  to  a  farther 
charitable  suspicion  that  he  had  been  unfairly  dealt 
with — a  suspicion  which  had  no  other  foundation  in 
the  public  mind  than  a  very  general  knowledge  of 
the  brutal  tyranny  which  he  had  exercised  over  his 
wife,  and  which  was  commonly  thought  to  have  been 
quite  sufficient  to  justify  almost  any  mode  of  redress, 
or  escape,  which  long  suffering  and  resentment  might 
think  proper  to  adopt.  There  were  a  few  even  less 
charitable,  who  fancied  that  the  husband's  failings 
were  of  the  most  harmless  character,  and  hurt  no- 
body but  himself;  that  the  wife  was  evidently  a  Tar- 
tar, and  had,  no  doubt,  got  rid  of  her  allegiance, 
rather  than  of  her  tyrant.  A  few  of  the  would- 
be-philosophical  scouted  the  idea  of  spectres  in  all 
periods,  ancient  and  modern;  but  even  these  were 
found  quite  busy  in  giving  circulation  to  the  story. 
But  these  need  not  divert  us  from  our  narrative. 

"And  what  think  you  of  all  this,  Frederick — does 
it  stagger  you?11  was  my  involuntary  question  as  he 
finished  giving  me  the  preceding  details.  I  confess, 
they  had  greatly  staggered  rne. 

"To  speak  plainly,  William,  I  regard  it  as  an  in- 
genious, but  monstrous  jugglery." 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  79 

"Indeed  !  did  you  tell  her  that  ?" 

"  Oh,  no !  I  knew  better.  That  would  have  been 
the  very  way  to  defeat  my  own  object,  perhaps,  of 
finding  out  the  clue  to  the  mystery." 

"But,  if  it  be  a  piece  of  jugglery,  Frederick,  how 
do  you  account  for  the  ghost's  possession  of  Marie's 
secret?" 

"That  gives  me  as  little  trouble  as  any  of  the  rest. 
Indeed,  it  is  in  that  part  of  the  story  that  I  fancy 
the  clues  are  to  be  found  by  which  the  imposture  is  to 
be  detected.  We  shall  see — as  there  is  a  living  God, 
William,  and  as  I  am  a  living  man,  I  shall  penetrate 
the  mystery." 

"But  how?" 

"Oh!  I  see  not  yet  the  way,  nor  can  I  tell  you, 
just  now,  what  are  the  steps  I  propose  to  take.  I 
must  think,  think  strenuously,  wrestle  with  thought 
as  with  an  angel — wrestle  alone,  without  food,  and  in 
the  depths  of  night  and  solitude.  I  shall  need  your 
help,  William,  as  I  warned  you;  and  shall,  probably, 
have  to  call  in  other  agents." 

"Does  Marie  know  your  objects — your  suspi- 
cions?" 

"  No  !  they  occurred  to  me  during  the  recital  of 
her  narrative ;  but  I  felt  that  every  step  must  be 
taken  with  great  caution ;  since,  if  there  is  jugglery, 
the  best  method  for  its  detection  is,  to  be  careful  to 
give  it  no  alarm.  A  part  of  my  suspicion  is,  that 
every  movement  of  Marie  de  Berniere  is  watched,  and 
that  every  word  she  utters,  reaches  other  ears  than 
those  for  whicn  she  designs  them." 


80  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

For  a  long  time  that  night,  until  the  short  hours, 
we  conferred  together.  Our  conversation  was  of  a 
character  at  once  deeply  interesting  and  solemn.  It 
canvassed  very  equally  the  separate  provinces  of  the 
human  and  spiritual  world — their  certain  relations, 
hopes,  and  dependencies — their  possible  communion ; 
and  much  of  our  conversation  became  practical  in 
connection  with  the  case  immediately  before  us.  But 
as  much  of  this  discussion  was  necessarily  renewed 
between  Frederick  and  Marie  de  Berniere,  I  forbear, 
in  this  place,  to  bring  it  forward,  and  will  not  antici- 
pate any  of  the  schemes  or  philosophies  of  my  com- 
panion. We  separated  for  the  night,  at  length.  He 
refused  to  sup  with  me;  denied  himself  everything 
but  cold  water,  and,  taking  the  bath  in  his  chamber, 
retired,  as  he  had  declared  his  purpose  to  do,  within 
himself,  and  upon  thought  and  prayer  wholly.  In 
the  morning  I  found  him  wearing  an  appearance  of 
greater  cheerfulness,  and  speaking  in  tones  of  more 
than  usual  elasticity.  I  remarked  on  it. 

"  It  is  because  I  have  work  before  me,  and  have 
already  conceived  the  plan  of  operations,  that  I  am 
so  much  livelier  than  usual.  One  dies  more  easily  in 
action  than  he  possibly  can  in  repose.  Effort  of  any 
kind,  to  a  soul-seeking  performance,  is  a  sort  of  joy." 

He  gave  me  only  a  few  minutes. 

"I  shall  be  busy  all  the  morning,"  said  he,  "and, 
in  the  evening,  I  must  see  Marie." 

I  strolled  about  town,  listless  but  anxious,  and  saw 
nothing  of  Frederick  till  next  day.  In  the  mean  time 
he  had  again  seen  his  betrothed,  as  he  had  promised. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  81 

He  found  her  alone,  as  sad,  probably,  as  before,  but 
something  calmer,  and  in  better  strength  for  the  in- 
terview. 

"  Marie,"  said  Frederick,  "I  have  brought  you  a 
letter  from  my  sister.  Read  it ;  it  will,  perhaps,  speak 
to  your  heart  quite  as  emphatically  as  myself." 

"Ah!  can  you  think  so,  Frederick?"  was  the  re- 
proachful answer,-  as  she  received  the  letter.  She 
opened  it  with  a  deep  sigh  and  began  reading.  Fred- 
erick sat  beside  her ;  as  she  read,  his  eyes  alternately 
gazing  upon  her  and  upon  the  vacant  walls  of  the 
apartment.  The  letter  was,  in  reality,  his  own.  He 
had  his  motive  for  making  a  statement  aloud  which 
was  at  variance  with  the  fact.  It  ran  thus  : — 

"  Start  not,  dear  Marie;  nor,  if  possible,  exhibit  the 
least  surprise  or  emotion  as  you  discover  the  writing  to 
be  mine,  or  note  the  character  of  its  contents.  At  all 
events,  make  no  remark  on  what  you  read,  and  let 
your  answer  be  in  writing  also,  and  addressed  to  Ma- 
dame de  Chateauneuve,  though  really  intended  for 
myself.  There  are  reasons,  believe  me,  for  all  these 
precautions.  In  brief,  dear  Marie,  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion,  after  deep  study  and  long  reflection,  that 
you  are  the  victim  of  a  cunning  and  monstrous  imposi- 
tion, to  combat  which,  successfully,  requires  the  utmost 
vigilance,  and  a  distrust  even  of  the  walls  of  your 
chamber.  So  well  am  I  persuaded  of  this,  that  I  feel 
it  unwise  to  whisper  to  you  here  the  several  processes 
of  reasoning  by  which  I  have  reached  these  suspicions, 
or  to  urge  my  inquiries  farther  towards  a  discovery  of 
the  truths.  My  purpose,  therefore,  is  to  entreat  that, 


82  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

if  you  really  love  me,  if  you  really  desire  my  happiness, 
as  well  as  your  own,  and,  if  you  would  really  revolt 
at  the  idea  of  being  deluded  byva  most  audacious  piece 
of  jugglery,  you  will  contrive  to  give  me  a  meeting  at 
my  sister's  to-morrow  morning  at  11  o'clock;  when  I 
will  unfold  to  you  the  whole  progress  of  my  conjec- 
tures. In  consenting  to  this  arrangement,  I  must 
warn  you  to  suffer  no  person  to  know  your  intentions, 
not  even  your  servants.  Do  not  order  your  carriage, 
but  wait  for  that  of  Madame  de  Chateauneuve,  who 
will  call  for  you,  a  little  before  this  hour.  Let  me 
implore  you,  dear  Marie,  to  accede  to  this  application. 
Your  health  will  now  admit — nay,  require  some  such 
exercise ;  exertion,  and  the  fresh  pure  air  of  these 
pleasant  days  will  exhilarate  and  strengthen  you. 
Supposing  even  that  the  decree  which  you  have  heard 
is  really  the  voice  of  an  almighty  Providence,  His  be- 
nevolence will  not  be  offended,  nor  His  sense  of  autho- 
rity outraged,  if  you  resort  to  all  reasonable  and  pro- 
per means  to  be  assured  of  its  divine  origin.  Scripture 
itself  counsels  us  that  the  world  shall  be  full  of  false 
prophets  and  false  signs  in  these  latter  days — and  there 
are  spirits  of  evil  as  well  as  of  good — perhaps  a  far 
greater  number,  who  are  still  permitted,  for  purposes 
of  mischief,  to  hover  around  the  habitations  of  earth. 
You  owe  it  to  me,  dear  Marie,  no  less  than  to  yourself 
— to  my  future  and  my  heart  as  well  as  your  own — 
not  to  yield  to  a  decree  which  threatens  the  wreck  of 
both,  until  it  has  been  narrowly  searched  by  every 
probe  and  principle  which  human  reason  has  ever  in- 
vented or  conceived  for  the  detection  of  error,  and 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  83 

the  discovery  of  truth.  As  this  revelation  appears 
to  be  so  entirely  miraculous  —  so  far  beyond  all  the 
ordinary  events  of  life  —  it  requires  that  it  should  be 
scrutinized  in  proportion  to  its  eccentricity,  and  in 
just  degree  with  the  vital  interests,  which  depend  upon 
its  execution.  Yield  to  this  entreaty,  dear  Marie,  even 
though  you  should  persist,  finally,  in  the  cruel  resolu- 
tion to  hearken  to  no  other  from  the  lips  of  one  whose 
every  prayer  will  still  eternally  be  yours. 


The  quick,  intelligent  mind  of  Marie  de  Berniere 
readily  understood  the  necessity  of  caution,  if  she 
regarded  the  desires  or  the  objects  of  her  lover;  and 
the  first  sentences  of  the  letter  schooled  her  suffi- 
ciently to  the  effort  at  self-possession,  which  it  was, 
nevertheless,  very  difficult  to  make.  Her  emotions  of 
surprise  were  apparent  upon  her  cheeks,  in  their 
varying  hues,  and  the  restless  and  sudden  vivacity  of 
her  eyes.  But  his  will  prevailed.  She  drew  the 
writing-materials  to  her  side,  and  penned  a  single 
sentence,  addressed  to  Madame  de  Chateauneuve, 
which  Frederick  conveyed,  without  reading,  to  his 
pocket.  She  suffered  him,  at  the  same  time,  without 
seeming  to  note  the  action,  to  gather  up  and  conceal 
the  billet  which  he  had  brought.  The  scene  was  fur- 
ther enlivened  by  a  dialogue,  which  we  do  not  think 
it  necessary  to  repeat,  in  which  the  lovers  found  but 
little  difficulty  in  discoursing  of  their  affections,  and 
discussing  their  denial  —  as  if  it  were  now  a  thing 
unavoidable  —  without  suffering  their  conversation  to 


84  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

exhibit  any  doubts  of  the  supernatural  origin  of  that 
decree  which  had  been  pronounced  against  their  union. 
It  was  long  before  they  separated;  and  Frederick 
fancied  that  he  had  gained  something  towards  his 
object,  when  he  left  Marie  in  much  better  spirits  than 
before,  and  with  something  like  a  hope  glistening  in 
her  eyes,  which  her  lips  as  mournfully  persisted  in 
denying  to  his  ears. 

That  afternoon  Frederick  came  to  me. 

"Your  services,  William,  are  about  to  begin.  To- 
night you  must  look  for  me  in  a  disguise.  I  have 
prepared  another  for  you.  I  have  also  found  you 
other  lodgings.  Inform  your  landlady  that  you  will 
be  absent  for  a  week  or  ten  days  from  the  city,  and 
burden  yourself  with  none  of  your  traps.  Leave 
everything  as  it  is.  I  will  find  for  you  a  wardrobe, 
with  everything  necessary,  where  we  go." 

Sure  enough,  when  the  night  had  fairly  set  in,  I 
was  waited  upon  by  a  middle-aged  gentleman  of  the 
old  school,  in  costume  and  manner.  This  was  Bran- 
don. His  disguise  was  admirable.  I  complimented 
him  upon  his  skill  in  masquerading. 

"So  much,"  said  he,  "for  the  habits  of  us  wander- 
ing youth  in  New  Orleans.  But  we  have  had  recent 
proof  that  there  is  one  person  who  is  a  better  masquer 
than  myself." 

He  was  followed  by  a  porter  bearing  a  trunk, 
which  contained  a  sufficient  wardrobe  for  us  both,  but 
adapted  to  our  new  change  of  habit.  I  at  once  pro- 
ceeded to  make  my  toilet,  with  my  friend's  assistance, 
and  with  old-fashioned  coat  and  pantaloons,  a  massive 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  85 

wig,  broad-brimmed  chapeau,  and  all  the  usual  et 
cetera — to  say  nothing  of  a  great  gold-headed  cane 
— I  found  myself,  after  the  labor  of  half  an  hour, 
translated  from  a  state  of  full-blooded  dandyism  and 
youth  into  a  state  of  full-bottomed  seniority,  with  the 
bulk  and  general  appearance  of  a  senator  from  one  of 
the  country  parishes.  Brandon  was  at  great  pains 
with  me,  and  we  set  forth,  the  porter  carrying  the 

trunk.     We  proceeded  to  an  obscure  hotel  in  C 

street,  where  our  employee  was  rewarded  and  dis- 
missed. The  trunk  was  put  into  the  bar-room,  while 
we  went  into  supper,  of  which  I  was  the  only  con- 
sumer. Brandon  ate  nothing.  He  disappeared  while 
I  was  smoking  a  cigar  in  the  bar-room,  and  was  gone 
for  half  an  hour.  He  brought  with  him,  on  his  re- 
turn, another  porter,  to  whom  the  trunk  was  given  in 
charge.  Our  score  settled,  we  left  the  hotel,  and  in 
a  little  space  of  time  we  reached  the  very  street  and 
neighborhood  in  which  stood  the  antique  habitation 
of  the  De  Bernieres.  At  the  door  of  an  old  dwelling- 
house,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way,  we  stopped  and 
hammered.  We  were  admitted  by  an  elderly  lady, 
who  looked  quite  as  much  the  German  as  the  French 
woman.  She  evidently  expected  us.  Our  trunk  was 
dispatched  to  a  chamber,  and  the  porter  dismissed. 
A  few  words  with  the  old  lady,  and  her  two  venerable 
lodgers  retired  to  their  apartment.  This  looked  over 
upon  the  street.  Brandon  soon  drew  me  to  the  win- 
dow, which  was  small,  and  furnished  with  heavy  blinds. 
"Look,"  said  he,  as  he  threw  open  the  shutter; 
"  there  is  the  dwelling  of  Madame  de  Berniere  ob- 
8 


86  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

liquely  opposite,  and  at  a  reasonable  distance.  You 
are  now  established,  my  dear  William,  in  the  honor- 
able capacity  of  a  spy.  Here,  for  a  few  days,  if  you 
really  desire  to  serve  me,  you  will  maintain  a  patient 
watch,  which  must  be  unwearying.  I  shall  sometimes 
relieve  you.  But  it  is  highly  important  to  see  what 
persons  enter  that  dwelling ;  and,  not  less  so,  perhaps, 
to  see  by  what  persons  her  servants  are  approached. 
This  you  can  only  do  by  day ;  for  the  night  I  have 
made  other  provision.  A  few  days  will  probably  suf- 
fice. In  particular,  keep  an  eye  upon  the  old  mulatto 
fellow,  Andres.  I  have  made  the  discovery  that  he  is 
hostile  to  me,  and  is  really  reluctant  that  I  should 
visit  the  house  of  his  mistress;  particularly  since 
the  affair  of  the  masquerade.  This  is  one  strong  ar- 
gument against  the  ghost  of  the  colonel,  since  it  is 
scarcely  to  be  thought  that  the  supernatural  world 
would  find  it  necessary  to  make  an  alliance  with  the 
African.  Enough!  I  will  leave  you  now,  but  will 
return  again  by  midnight.  Adios  ! 


CHAPTER   XII. 

PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  SUPERNATURAL. 

I  RESUME  my  narrative,  passing  over  numerous 
small  occurrences  which  may  be  noticed  hereafter. 
Of  the  long  and  serious  conversation  which  I  had 
that  night  with  Frederick  Brandon,  I  shall  say  no- 
thing ;  as  much  of  the  material  was  necessarily  em- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  87 

ployed  the  next  day  in  his  conference  with  Marie  de 
Berniere.  To  this  conference  let  us  now  proceed. 
At  the  appointed  hour,  the  carriage  of  Madame  de 
Chateauneuve  stopped  suddenly  at  the  door  of  the 
fair  young  mourner's  habitation.  The  door  was  in- 
stantly opened  to  receive  her,  and  she  was  soon 
welcomed  to  the  embraces  of  her  friend.  Marie 
was  already  dressed  to  receive  her ;  but  habited  so 
plainly,  and  in  a  style  so  unusual  for  the  street,  that 
none  of  her  servants  dreamed,  when  she  was  making 
her  toilet,  that  she  was  preparing  or  designing  to  go 
abroad.  In  this  proceeding,  by  a  just  instinct,  she 
consulted  the  unexpressed  objects  of  her  lover.  Her 
attendants  were  quite  taken  by  surprise  when  she 
ordered  her  bonnet  and  cloak.  Her  maid,  indeed, 
expostulated  with  her  with  that  earnestness  which  duty 
and  affection  may  be  suffered  to  indulge  in ;  first,  in 
regard  to  her  health,  sudden  exposure  to  capricious 
weather,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing ;  and,  next,  in 
relation  to  her  style  of  dress,  which  the  Tabitha  as- 
severated, was  by  no  means  fit  to  be  seen  by  fashion- 
able eyes.  But  Marie  silenced  the  officious  damsel  by 
a  word,  which  was  sufficiently  positive  without  being 
harsh  or  stern.  She  herself,  by  the  way,  took  the 
initiate  in  all  the  proceeding,  and  spoke  to  her  visitor 
as  if  the  proposed  drive  was  altogether  an  extempo- 
raneous suggestion  of  her  own. 

"I  am  so  rejoiced  that  you  are  come,"  said  she, 
"  for  somehow,  I  feel  to-day,  for  the  first  time,  like 
taking  a  little  sunshine  and  fresh  air.  Everything 
looks  so  gloomy  here.  You  shall  give  me  a  seat,  dear 


88  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

Ninine  (a  pet  term  of  endearment  to  her  friend),  and 
talk  to  me  as  we  ride,  and  cheer  me,  if  you  can,  into 
better  spirits.  I  am  so  glad  that  you  are  come." 

And,  hurrying  her  toilet,  and  wrapping  herself 
closely  up  in  the  ample  territory  of  a  shawl  of  Thibet, 
she  took  her  friend's  arm  and  eagerly  led  the  way  to 
the  carriage. 

"  If  the  Father  should  come  ?"  was  the  apparent 
question  of  the  old  dark  mulatto  servant-man,  Andres, 
as,  with  a  hesitating  and  reluctant  manner;  he  opened 
the  door. 

"  Tell  him  that  I  have  gone  out  to  ride,"  Andres ; 
that  I  want  fresh  air  and  sunshine.  Say  that  I  am 
gone  with  Madame  de  Chateauneuve." 

Nothing  more  was  said,  and  the  carriage,  with  its 
precious  burden,  was  soon  out  of  sight  of  the  porter, 
who  yet  lingered  at  the  door.  The  drive,  by  Madame 
de  Chateauneuve's  instructions,  was  purposely  a  cir- 
cuitous one.  It  led  at  first  directly  out  of  the  city, 
but  when  a  certain  distance  had  been  reached,  the 
carriage  was  wheeled  about,  and,  after  wending  its 
way  through  other  parts  of  the  city,  was  at  length 
brought  to  a  stand  before  Madame  de  Chateauneuve's 
dwelling.  The  friends  alighted  and  entered  the  house, 
where  Brandon  was  in  waiting  to  receive  them.  He 
saw  them  approaching  from  the  window,  but  did  not 
dare  to  descend  and  assist  them,  as  he  was  unwilling 
that  any  watchful  or  suspicious  eye  might  detect  his 
presence  on  this  occasion.  His  plan  of  operations 
was  one  which  must  fail  without  the  nicest  precau- 
tions, and,  as  he  observed  to  me  the  night  before, 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  89 

"Whether  I  am  to  play  against  man  or  devil,  it  is 
evident  that  my  opponent  is  an  old  and  adroit  mana- 
ger of  the  cards.  We  must  beware  that  he  does  not 
get  the  deal."  The  impatience  of  Madame  de  Ber- 
niere,  when  they  encountered,  left  him  little  time  or 
occasion  for  preliminaries. 

"You  have  provoked  my  doubts  and  curiosity, 
Frederick,  to  such  a  degree  that  I  could  not  sleep  last 
night.  It  is  not  that  I  believe  it  in  your  power  to 
shake  my  faith  in  what  I  have  seen  and  know.  But 
the  bare  possibility  that  I  may  have  been  deceived, 
which  your  view  of  the  case  has  suggested — my  great 
respect  for  your  judgment,  which  is  confessedly  so 
cool  and  so  sagacious — my  own  present  dissatisfaction 
and  discontent — in  short,  the  total  loss  of  that  peace 
of  mind  which  should  undoubtedly  have  followed  my 
complete  resignation  to  that  fate  which  required  that 
I  should  make  every  sacrifice  of  self;  these  all  com- 
bine to  make  me  eager  to  hear  anything — even  though 
it  be  against  my  hope — if  it  will  only  silence  my 
anxieties.  Tell  me,  then,  Frederick,  what  is  it  that 
you  know,  or  wherefore  and  whom  do  you  suspect?" 

"I  have  said,  Marie,  that  I  regarded  you  as  the 
victim  of  a  most  cunning  and  shocking  imposture.  I 
am  not  the  man  easily  to  delude  myself,  and  until  I 
am  assured,  myself,  I  am  not  the  man  to  attempt  to 
delude  others.  I  have  listened  patiently  and  thought- 
fully to  the  curious  and  startling  narrative  of  facts 
which  you  have  given  me.  Startling  they  are — and 
they  would  be  terrible  indeed,  were  there  not  certain 
peculiarities  in  the  history  of  this  affair,  which  seem 

8* 


90  MARIE  DE  BERNIEIIE; 

to  me  to  divest  it  of  all  its  supernatural  elements, 
and  reduce  it  to  nothing  more  stupendous  than  a  well- 
conceived  and  cleverly  played  scheme  of  a  practised 
and  subtle  juggler." 

"But  that  face  of  death,  Frederick — those  fearful 
and  glassy  eyes,  which  stared  into  my  own,  freezing 
me  to  my  very  soul;  that  voice,  so  entirely  the  same; 
that  ghastly  aspect,  and  over  all,  the  revelation  of 
that  terrible  secret  which  I  had  fondly  imagined  was 
buried  and  obliterated  in  the  insane  thought  in  which 
it  had  existence." 

"Stay,  Marie;  suffer  me  to  proceed.  In  particular, 
let  me  request  that  you  do  not  allow  your  imagina- 
tion to  become  once  more  the  ally  of  this  superstition. 
It  has  done  some  mischief  in  this  manner  already. 
It  was  in  some  degree  the  knowledge  of  this  suscepti- 
bility of  yours  that  first  persuaded  the  ghost-raiser 
to  an  experiment  upon  your  fears,  in  which  he  has 
hitherto  been  only  too  successful." 

"But  do  you,  then,  not  believe  at  all  in  ghosts, 
Frederick?" 

"  I  have  no  knowledge  of  the  subject,  Marie.  I 
have  never  seen  a  ghost ;  but  am  rather  more  inclined 
to  believe  in  them  than  otherwise,  since  I  believe  in 
the  immortality  of  the  soul — since  I  know  not  where 
or  how  the  soul  is  employed  after  it  shuffles  off  its 
earthly  garment ;  and  since  I  can  easily  believe  that 
there  are  many  cases,  where,  for  specific  purposes 
of  mortal  benefit,  the  Deity  may  permit  the  freed 
spirit  to  resume  its  habit  and  reappear  in  the  ancient 
places  which  it  has  long  abandoned." 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  91 

"Well?" 

"You  would  contend  that  this  is  one  of  those  very 
cases,  but  I  confidently  say,  4No.'  Indeed,  it  would 
be  one  of  those  cases  which,  by  showing  to  me  what 
monstrous  crimes  might  be  committed  under  such  a 
sanction,  would  be  almost  conclusive,  to  my  mind, 
against  the  whole  doctrine  of  pneumatology.  I  am 
not  unwilling  to  believe  that  the  spectre  may  be  per- 
mitted to  reappear  for  warning  and  counsel — in  order  to 
succor  the  innocent  whom  no  help  could  otherwise  reach 
— or  to  baffle  the  meditated  guilt  to  which  there  is  no 
means  of  earthly  opposition.  But  how  can  I  persuade 
myself  that  the  Deity  will  yield  such  privilege  to  the 
spirit  who  seeks  only  to  mortify  and  affright;  to  the 
guilty  spirit  also :  one  who,  in  life,  was  himself  a 
criminal — brutally  regardless  of  the  nature  which  he 
outraged!  Should  he  be  permitted,  in  both  lives,  to 
exercise  a  power  of  wrong  ?  Shall  he,  after  death, 
be  suffered  to  renew  his  outrages  to  the  mortal  ter- 
ror and  prolonged  suffering  of  his  former  victim? — to 
her  public  shame  and  exposure?" 

"  Alas,  Frederick  !  but  I  too  was  guilty!" 

"Not  to  him !  You  meditated  a  crime  against  him, 
it  is  true;  but  as  you  did  not  execute  your  offence,  as 
he  did  not  suffer  from  it,  your  real  crime  was  against 
the  Deity.  To  both  did  you  endeavor  to  atone.  You 
repented  of  your  evil  purpose  almost  as  soon  as  you 
conceived  it;  certainly  in  season  to  prevent  its  execu- 
tion. It  was  a  guilty  thought  only,  which  better 
thoughts  have  sufficed  to  eradicate.  He  surely  has  no 
work  of  vengeance  to  execute  !" 


92  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

"  But  he  may  execute  the  vengeance  of  the  good 
God,  Frederick?" 

"  Scarcely !  How  can  we  suppose  that  the  Deity 
will  employ  against  the  offender  the  agency  of  a  far 
greater  criminal  ?  How  suppose  that  he  will  leave  to 
the  spirit  of  malice  to  execute  the  decrees  of  justice? 
This  would  be  to  put  into  the  hands  of  the  aggressor 
the  means  of  further  aggression.  Of  course,  we  can- 
not pretend  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  the  will  and  pur- 
poses of  God.  But  it  is  not  denied  to  us  that  we 
shall  exercise  our  best  modes  of  thinking — our  human 
faculties  of  reason — according  to  the  usual  standards 
of  mortal  judgment.  We  know  that  the  unfortunate 
person  whose  spectre  you  suppose  yourself  to  have  seen 
was  a  heinous  criminal — a  bold  blasphemer — a  brutal 
tyrant — a  man  who  died  literally  with  curses  upon  his 
lips!  That  he  should  be  in  a  situation  to  receive  mi- 
raculous power  from  the  Divine  Father  of  Good — that 
he  should  be  chosen  as  the  special  agent  for  the  prosecu- 
tion of  omniscient  judgment — is  scarcely  compatible 
with  possibility,  according  to  any  of  those  laws  and  prin- 
ciples which  a  merely  human  reason  recognizes  as  char- 
acteristic of  propriety  or  justice.  If  we  are  to  regard 
this  as  a  supernatural  visitation,  how  much  more 
reasonable  to  ascribe  it  to  the  malicious  dispensations 
of  a  Power  of  Evil,  rather  than  one  of  Good!  This 
power,  it  is  quite  probable,  from  all  that  we  see  and 
learn,  is  as  active  and  present  now,  in  malignant 
hostility  to  the  interests  of  earth,  as  it  was  five 
thousand  years  ago.  It  may  work  its  miracles  also ; 
and  the  mission  which  it  is  thought  to  execute,  in  the 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  93 

present  instance,  is  of  a  kind  rather  to  proceed  from 
a  cruel  and  envious  than  from  a  benevolent  original. 
What  does  it  seek?  To  vex  and  separate  the  hearts 
that  love  would  unite ;  to  disturb  the  repose  and  de- 
stroy the  happiness  of  that  being  to  whom  it  allowed 
neither  peace  nor  happiness  in  life ;  to  continue,  beyond 
the  grave,  a  persecution  which  it  delighted  to  indulge 
while  living;  to  mar  the  harmony  and  order  of  society; 
to  fill  our  souls  with  vague  terrors — with  a  constant 
sense  of  insecurity — with  the  dread  of  evils  ever  at 
the  elbow — and  to  inspire  horror  in  scenes  the  most 
sweet  and  peaceful!  And  all  for  what?  Because  of 
ancient  offences — meditated  and  not  performed,  and 
amply  repented,  if  not  wholly  atoned  for.  Are  we  to 
suppose  that  all  our  thoughts  are  thus  watched  by 
malignant  spirits,  in  order  that  we  may  be  tormented 
by  their  capricious  hate  and  tyranny  ?  Why  was 
this  revelation  never  made  to  you  before?  Why  wras 
this  terrible  rebuke  to  your  hopes  left  unadministered 
so  long?  Why,  if  the  purpose  had  been  to  adjudge 
you  unworthy  of  all  future  happiness,  such  as  the 
natural  affections  of  youth  bestow,  why  were  you  not 
counselled  to  the  proper  preparation  for  this  sacrifice, 
that  you  might  wean  your  thoughts  from  every  but 
immortal  attachments — taught  sternly,  at  an  earlier 
season,  that,  for  the  meditated  crime  of  your  heart, 
you  were  to  make  that  heart  expiate  by  a  dark  and 
gloomy  isolation  for  its  single  unhappy  fault?  This 
warning  was  doubly  necessary  at  an  early  period,  to 
prevent  you  from  involving  other  destinies  with  your 
own!  You  do  not  say  that  your  spectral  visitant 


94  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

warned  you  against  me  ?  He  did  not  say  to  you  that 
I  did  not  truly  and  tenderly  love  you — that  I  had 
not  huilt  largely  and  with  confidence  upon  the  hopes 
with  which  my  love  for  you  had  inspired  me  ?  He 
did  not  say  that  I  was  unworthy  of  you,  or  that  we 
were  unfit  for  each  other?" 

"No!  no!  Frederick,  no!" 

"Why,  then,  am  I  to  share  your  punishment?  I 
was  certainly  in  no  way  privy  to  your  offence.  If  I 
truly  and  tenderly  love  you — if  I  am  guiltless  of  this 
crime ;  if  the  prospect  be  a  reasonable  one,  that  we 
should  be  happy  together  in  the  bonds  of  marriage — 
what  are  we  to  think  of  that  benevolence  or  justice 
in  the  Father  of  all  blessings — whom  we  are  taught 
to  honor  chiefly  because  of  his  fast  attributes  of  bene- 
volence and  justice — if  he  shall  forbear  his  judgment 
upon  the  guilty  until  he  can  sweep,  with  the  same 
doom,  the  innocent  also  ?  Allowing  that  this  messen- 
ger of  evil  comes  from  the  grave,  it  is  impossible  that 
I  can  persuade  myself  that  his  mission  is  from  God  ! 
Rather" 

"Forbear,  Frederick,  forbear!     For  my  sake  !" 

"  But  in  truth,  dear  Marie,  he  comes  from  neither! 
He  is  but  a  vulgar  ghost  of  mortal  manufacture.  You 
perceive  that  he  does  not  come  at  all  until  we  are 
engaged  to  be  married.  This  is  a  fact  of  considerable 
significance  !  For  thirteen  months  has  this  ghost  kept 
quietly  in  possession  of  your  secret.  For  that  space 
of  time  you  too  have  been  permitted  to  sleep  quietly, 
with  all  its  weight  upon  your  conscience.  There  was 
no  incumbent  duty  felt,  in  all  this  period,  to  awaken 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  95 

your  guilty  heart — to  check  and  rebuke  your  enjoy- 
ments— to  school  you  with  terrors  of  the  future.  You 
might  engage  in  dances  and  song — to  wander  through 
the  fascinating  mazes  of  a  gay  society,  on  the  brink 
always  of  eternal  dangers,  yet  without  a  word  of 
warning.  It  is  only  when  you  are  in  possession  of 
another  secret,  that  the  awful  monitor  wakes  up  to 
chide  you  for  the  past  and  to  warn  you  against  the 
future.  Clearly,  then,  it  is  the  marriage  that  disturbs 
the  ghost,  and  not  your  past  offences.  He  leaves  his 
cerements,  and  revisits  the  glimpses  of  our  moon,  when 
he  finds  that  you  are  about  to  wed  another.  Was 
your  crime,  upon  which  he  now  so  much  insists,  of  no 
importance,  and  totally  unmeriting  regard  ?  It  would 
seem  so.  One  would  say,  reasoning  from  common 
laws,  that  our  excellent  ghost  has  not  so  much  desired 
to  make  you  a  penitent,  as  to  keep  you  a  widow." 

The  case  was  put  with  evident  effect.  A  pause  en- 
sued, in  which  Frederick  Brandon  appeared  to  await 
her  answer.  She  replied  after  a  little  interval. 

"  You  are  reasoning,  Frederick,  as  men  are  apt  to 
reason  in  ordinary  concerns.  But  how  shall  we  sit 
in  judgment  upon  the  means  and  processes,  the  agents 
and  creatures,  by  which  the  Deity  thinks  fit  to  work. 
Lucifer,  himself,  we  are  told,  is  but  a  creature  of  his 
will,  who  works  in  obedience  to  his  manifestation." 

"  I  do  not  gainsay  this.  I  say  nothing  against  it; 
nor  do  I  propose,  dear  Marie,  to  reason  for  the  pro- 
priety of  God's  performances.  But  this  is  what  men 
call  a  begging  of  the  question.  This  is  really  the 


96  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

question.  Is  it  the  Deity  who  works,  or  is  it  the  man, 
or  is  it  the  devil?  You  assume  the  former,  and  I 
deny  it ;  and  we  have  but  one  process  left  to  us,  that 
of  human  reason  (or  it  is  our  mockery  only)  to  deter- 
mine upon  our  several  opinions.  Neither  of  us  may 
assume  anything  in  the  matter." 

"  But  the  peculiar  revelation  which  is  made  by  this 
messenger,  Frederick?" 

"  To  that  I  shall  come  directly.  There  are  still 
some  preliminary  considerations.  Assuming  that 
Heaven  has  designed  to  influence  your  conduct  by  a 
special  messenger — and  here,  dear  Marie,  we  must  be 
wonderfully  cautious  not  to  suffer  the  amour  propre 
too  readily  to  persuade  us  of  an  importance  in  one 
particular  instance,  which  is  to  secure  us  this  peculiar 
consideration  of  the  Deity — assuming,  I  say,  that  this 
visitor  is  not  only  what  he  really  pretends,  but  that 
he  is  a  special  messenger  from  God — and  the  question 
occurs,  has  he  pursued  a  course  which  is  consistent 
with  the  usual  workings  of  heavenly  interposition? 
The  ministry  of  God,  when  he  would  work  upon  the 
stubborn  heart  of  man,  is  as  really  gentle  and  unob- 
trusive, as  silent  and  natural,  as  is  the  gentle  falling 
of  the  dews  by  night  upon  the  feverish  and  famished 
plant.  Was  the  season  chosen  for  this  warning  alto- 
gether consistent  with  a  divine  and  benevolent  inten- 
tion ?  Would  God  delight,  not  only  to  counsel  the 
sinner,  but  to  scare  and  shame  him  to  confession  by 
a  coup  de  theatre  ?  Would  he  choose  the  scene  of 
revelry  for  such  an  annunciation  ?  Were  there  not  a 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  97 

thousand  other  and  better  opportunities  in  the  long 
interval  of  thirteen  months  before — the  still  hours  of 
the  night — the  solitude  of  one's  chamber — one  of  those 
periods  when  the  heart  inclines  to  look  back,  and  to 
sigh  and  weep  over  the  memorials  of  the  past ! — when 
the  mind  is  most  free  for  contemplation  and  reflection, 
and  the  conscience  most  susceptible  to  all  teachings 
which  appeal  to  it  through  its  consciousness  of  past 
errors  and  mistakes  ?  Is  it  not  reasonable  to  conjec- 
ture, from  all  that  we  know  of  the  Deity,  that  he 
would  choose  for  such  a  purpose  some  such  period  of 
self-security  and  solitude  ?  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
how  natural  for  the  vulgar  mortal,  conceiving  the  idea 
of  producing  an  impression  by  some  cunning  jugglery 
(such  as  I  take  this  to  be)  to  execute  his  design  just 
at  the  period  chosen — when  there  would  be  a  great 
and  vulgar  sensation  in  consequence — a  town  talk — 
and  when  the  superstitious  terrors  of  the  victim  would 
be  necessarily  heightened  by  the  most  cruel  mortifi- 
cation of  her  pride  !  How  could  we  suppose  that  the 
Deity  would  work  through  such  a  medium,  or  with 
such  motives?  You  remember  the  spectre  in  Job? 
How  a  thing  was  secretly  brought  to  him,  his  ear  only 
receiving  it  faintly  and  imperfectly  at  first.  The  hour 
chosen  'vas  that  of  midnight — when  the  deep  sleep 
has  fall  ••!  upon  earth  and  all  its  living  creatures.  His 
instincts  }  romptly  teach  him  to  shudder  even  at  this 
little  whisper.  It  is  premonitory.  It  is  sent  to  pre- 
pare and  strengthen  him  against  what  follows.  He 
feels  the  approach  of  the  unknown  presence,  which  he 
does  not  see,  which  had  not  yet  spoken  audibly. 


98  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

Then  he  becomes  conscious  that  a  spirit  stands  before 
him,  vague,  formless,  indefinite — shapeless  and  fea- 
tureless— but  looking  a  terrible  power  before  his  eyes. 
The  voice  then  follows.  The  burden  of  the  speech  is 
spoken  !  How  brief — how  simple — how  awful — how 
utterly  wanting  in  details — yet  ample,  as  addressing 
itself  to  a  conscience  already  fully  counselled  by  all 
its  instincts.  And  thus  it  is  everywhere  in  sacred 
history,  that  the  Spirit  of  God  reveals  himself  to  the 
objects  of  his  interest.  He  awes,  but  he  does  not  scare 
them.  He  endows  them  with  an  adequate  strength 
to  endure  his  visitation,  and  does  not  overwhelm  them 
with  such  terrors  as  threaten  life.  It  is  in  this  particu- 
lar that  we  find  the  conclusive  difference  between  the 
really  supernatural  visitation  and  the  simulacrum.  It 
is  in  this  particular  that  the  art  of  the  juggler  fails. 
That  you  should  have  been  stricken  into  senselessness 
almost  to  death,  by  the  spectre,  is  to  me  conclusive  of 
the  total  absence  of  the  supernatural.  Look  at  all 
the  cases  that  occur  in  sacred  history.  It  is  with  a 
whisper  that  the  Deity  calls  the  boy  Samuel,  at  mid- 
night, to  his  mission.  He  accommodates  his  voice  to 
the  strength  of  the  being  whom  he  summons,  and  no- 
where leaves  him  without  the  strength  to  endure  his 
presence.  It  is  thus  that  he  enables  his  inspired  men 
to  seek  him  in  the  lonely  mountains,  the  multitude 
being  kept  away — and  they  are  never  crushed  by  the 
encounter.  There  is  but  a  single  instance  that  I  can 
recall,  looking  like  an  exception  to  this  rule — which  it 
really  is  not — and  that  is  the  sudden,  silent  hand,  at 
the  feast  of  Belshazzar,  which  wrote  Heaven's  judg- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  99 

ment  upon  the  wall.  Awe  and  fear  possessed  the 
hearts  of  the  spectators,  but  not  an  utter  death-like 
prostration  of  the  faculties.  But  it  was  in  secret  only, 
in  the  ear  of  Daniel,  that  the  mysterious  signification 
of  the  writing  was  made  known.  It  is  one  of  the 
wondrous  features  which  distinguish  the  operations  of 
the  Deity,  that  they  are  so  quiet,  so  unobtrusive,  so 
wholly  unostentatious.  Were  it  otherwise,  his  visita- 
tions would  utterly  wreck  the  reason  of  men;  and  a 
miracle,  instead  of  being  what  it  is,  a  special  advent 
of  truth,  would  be  only  a  visitation  of  death.  Ours 
is  a  day  of  human  marvels,  and  science  performs  for 
the  ignorant  her  full  amount  of  miracles.  In  the 
spectre  that  we  now  discuss,  I  fancy  that  I  can  discern 
some  of  the  workings  of  human  science,  and  quite  as 
much  of  a  human  art.  Let  us  look  to  some  other 
particulars.  I  am  very  sure  that  the  features  of  which 
you  speak,  as  distinguishing  the  spectre — the  glazed 
eyes,  which  yet  see — the  wan  cheeks — the  whitened  lips 
— the  general  aspect  of  the  grave  and  death,  which  it 
wore,  are  all  rather  due  to  chemical  agents  than  to 
the  spiritual  world.  But,  then,  you  recognized  a 
striking  resemblance  to  the  features  of  the  late  Col- 
onel de  Berniere?" 

"I  certainly  did." 

"Now,  then,  if  it  were  important  to  the  mission  of 
the  spectre  that  you  should  see  and  recognize  his 
features,  and  that  they  should  so  strikingly  resemble 
those  of  the  person  of  whom  it  claimed  to  be  the 
spirit,  why  should  they  wear  the  appearance  of  death, 
also,  as  well  as  life  ?  If  the  spirit  were  living,  why 


100  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

voluntarily  assume  the  features  of  the  grave,  when  it 
was  the  object  to  impress  you  with  the  recollection  of 
the  living  man  ?  Why,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  as- 
pect of  the  grave  were  to  be  worn — of  absolute  death 
— why  is  it  that  the  exhibition  was  not  one  of  that 
complete  corruption  and  decay  which  we  know  to  be 
inevitable  after  a  thirteen  months'  burial  ?  The  spectre 
tries  to  do  too  much.  He  does  not  rely  upon  his  super- 
natural endowments  so  much  as  upon  your  memory 
and  your  conscience.  He  shows  himself  in  a  doubtful- 
double — at  once  the  spirit  of  a  dead  and  a  living 
man,  without  wholly  or  correctly  representing  either  ! 
But  there  is  a  still  more  striking  difficulty  in  this  per- 
sonification. Colonel  de  Berniere  seems  to  have  grown 
a  number  of  inches  since  his  burial.  Nobody  who  knew 
him  in  New  Orleans — and  everybody  did — but  must 
remember  that  he  was  of  under-size — I  think  he  could 
not  have  been  more  than  five  feet  four  or  five  inches 
high ;  and  yet  you  will  remember  that  the  ghost  was  able 
to  impose  himself  upon  you,  in  my  Egyptian  costume, 
and "  yet  I  am  fully  five  feet  eleven.  I  myself  re- 
marked, when  I  conducted  him  to  you,  that  the  ap- 
pearance was  not  only  very  like,  but  that  he  was  just  of 
my  height.  We  stood  side  by  side,  for  a  moment,  at 
the  entrance,  and  our  shoulders  were  on  the  same 
level.  I  noticed  one  difference,  that  my  simulacrum 
stooped  a  little,  which  I  do  not;  this  would  prove  him 
to  be  even  taller  than  myself.  Now,  Colonel  de  Ber- 
niere not  only  did  not  stoop,  but  was  remarkable  for 
his  erectness ;  throwing  himself  back  rather,  as  is  com- 
mon with  persons  consciously  small,  who  are  neces- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  101 

sarily  compelled  to  do  so  if  they  would  seek  the  eyes 
of  their  neighbors.  You,  I  suppose,  dear  Marie,  were 
quite  too  much  frightened  to  have  discriminated  these 
things,  else  how  could  you  suppose  the  Egyptian,  at 
one  moment,  to  be  me,  and,  in  the  very  next,  Colonel 
de  Berniere?" 

Marie  seemed  to  admit  the  charge  by  her  silence, 
her  head  drooping,  but  her  eyes  dilating — her  soul  at 
sea — at  strife,  in  that  deep  interest  which  her  lover 
had  provoked  in  the  singular  and  now  dubious  question 
which  he  had  raised.  He  resumed — 

"  Now,  Marie,  it  is  one  way  to  defeat  a  supernatural 
mission,  which  seeks  only  to  impress  warning  and 
convey  command,  so  to  terrify  the  mind  of  the  person 
receiving  the  visitation,  as  nearly  to  rob  him  of  life 
and  reason.  We  are  bound  to  assume  the  condition 
in  which  you  were  left,  as  rather  against  than  in  favor 
of  the  supernatural  pretension  of  your  visitor.  Such 
results  never  are  known  to  follow  a  genuine  spi- 
ritual visitation.  But  terror  is  easily  inspired,  even 
to  death,  by  the  blundering  cruelty  of  mere  vulgar 
agents  among  men.  I  have  glanced  already  at  the 
reason  for  this,  but  the  point  is  one  of  too  much  im- 
portance to  the  argument  to  be  passed  over  lightly ; 
and  I  dwell  on  it  the  more  particularly  as  one  of  the 
most  famous  metaphysicians  of  the  age  has  adverted 
to  the  subject,  arguing  against  the  supernatural  al- 
together. It  is  Coleridge  who  contends  that  no  mortal 
could  survive  the  presence  of  a  real  ghost;  and  he  gives 
an  anecdote  of  two  youths,  one  of  whom  endeavored 
to  frighten  the  other,  who  coolly  mocked  his  pre- 

9* 


102  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

tensions,  and,  being  armed  with  a  loaded  pistol,  warned 
him  that  he  would  fire  if  he  persisted.  But  the 
former,  having  secretly  drawn  the  bullet,  persevered, 
and  fearlessly  stood  the  shot.  The  other,  when  he 
found  his  bullet  of  no  avail  against  the  spectre,  swooned 
instantly,  and  finally  died.  The  argument  of  the 
4  old  man  eloquent'  is  not  urged  with  his  usual  in- 
genuity or  profundity.  He  overlooks  one  element  of 
the  subject  to  which  I  have  already  adverted.  The 
mortal  might  well  frighten  to  death  the  mortal  who 
relied  wholly  on  carnal  weapons,  and  offered  merely  a 
general  sentiment  of  incredulity  to  a  philosophy  which 
has  baffled  the  most  thorough  investigations.  We,  how- 
ever, are  to  assume  that  the  power  which  decrees  the 
advent  and  the  duty  of  the  ghost,  will  so  provide  that 
his  object  shall  not  be  rendered  ineffectual.  We  must 
not  doubt  that  he  will  prepare  the  mind  of  the  spectator 
with  a  supernatural  strength  adequate  to  the  en- 
counter. His  instincts,  as  in  the  case  of  Job,  will 
become  his  premonitors.  Coleridge's  student  had 
none  of  these  premonitions,  and  his  death  was  the 
consequence  of  an  instantaneous  transition  from  a  blind 
and  boyish  incredulity  to  an  equally  boyish  belief  in 
the  reality  of  the  spectre  !  The  solemn  purposes  of 
the  Deity  will  not  suffer  to  be  baffled  by  the  infirmities 
of  the  flesh,  when  it  is  so  certainly  in  his  power  to 
succor  and  sustain  the  shrinking  nature  of  humanity 
by  a  provision  as  mysterious  as  that  by  which  it  is 
assailed.  That  your  Egyptian,  in  his  first  contact 
with  you,  myself,  and  others,  should  have  inspired  no 
such  mysterious  doubts  and  sensibilities  as  oppressed 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  103 

Job — and  such  as  seem,  in  all  cases,  to  have  attended 
the  approach  of  the  supernatural  guest — is  sufficiently 
against  his  pretensions.  That  he  should  have  fright- 
ened you  into  convulsions  is  not  more  conclusive  in 
his  favor  than  is  the  attainment  of  the  same  result 
by  the  trick  of  the  brutal  juggler,  when  he  seizes  upon 
the  unprepared  and  superstitious  child,  and  overwhelms 
him  with  a  terror  against  which,  if  from  a  divine  in- 
telligence, the  spectator  is  always  measurably  armed 
and  protected." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

EUSE  DE  GUERRE. 

IT  must  not  be  supposed  that  Frederick  Brandon 
was  allowed  to  pursue  this  long  analysis  without  frequent 
interruptions  from  his  fair  companion  ;  frequent  ques- 
tionings, doubts,  and  suggestions  occurred  during  his 
progress,  which  we  have  not  thought  necessary  to 
put  on  record.  Nor  must  the  reader  fancy  that  the 
lover  was,  at  any  time,  so  abrupt  in  his  expressions, 
as,  in  our  anxiety  to  contract  our  narrative  to  certain 
dimensions,  we  may  have  suffered  him  sometimes  to 
appear.  His  philosophies  compassed,  also,  a  much 
larger  province  of  thought  than  it  has  been  within  our 
desire  or  ability  to  exhibit.  Many  things  were  said 
in  order  .to  soften  suggestions  which  might  have  star- 
tled the  superstitious  nature  ;  and  much  soothing  was 
employed  to  pacify  the  timid  in  her  superstitious  fan- 


104  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

cies.  In  all  his  conversation,  Brandon  was  properly 
heedful  of  all  her  feelings  and  distresses.  He  had 
schooled  his  mind  to  progress,  and,  calm  himself, 
mentally — whatever  might  be  the  emotions  feverishly 
working  in  his  heart,  he  had  been  able  to  address 
himself  to  the  woman  whom  he  loved,  with  a  care  that 
never  once  forgot  the  physician  in  the  philosopher. 
He  had  succeeded,  certainly,  in  awakening  in  the  mind 
of  his  hearer  some  of  that  skepticism  which  had  justi- 
fied his  own.  This  was  indicated  in  her  enlivened  ex- 
pression of  countenance — in  her  anxiety  that  he  should 
proceed — and  in  a  certain  resumption  of  her  former  elas- 
ticity of  mood,  which  at  one  time  had  rendered  her  quite 
as  volatile  and  gay  as  she  was  susceptible.  He  was 
at  no  loss  to  follow  up  the  train  of  opinion  and  argu- 
ment with  which  he  had  begun. 

"  All  this,"  said  Marie  de  Berniere,  after  a  pause, 
speaking  in  low  tones — scarce  breathing,  indeed,  from 
excitement — "  all  this  is  certainly  very  strange,  and 
very  strongly  urged.  But  your  argument,  Frederick, 
with  some  exceptions,  relates  only  to  general  specula- 
tions upon  the  merely  probable  or  possible  in  such  an 
affair.  In  these  respects  you  have  made  your  views 
plausible;  but  how  are  you  to  overcome  the  one  great 
fact  touching  the  secret  revelation  ?" 

"  Forgive  me,  Marie,  if  I  claim  to  have  dealt  in 
something  more  than  generalities.  These  I  have 
employed  as  subsidiary  only  to  positive  arguments 
bearing  upon  decisive  points  in  the  case.  For  exam- 
ple, the  appearance  of  the  spectre,  looking  neither 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  105 

like  the  living  nor  the  dead,  partaking  of  both  in  some 
degree — a  spirit  shrouded  in  corruption — " 

"  But  we  are  not  to  know  what  are  the  character- 
istics of  such  an  apparition — with  what  purpose 
designed — from  what  condition  suffering — under  what 
necessities  made  active." 

"  You  have  not  examined  my  objections  thorough- 
ly, Marie.  I  object  that  the  spectre  was,  at  once,  too 
much  and  too  little  specific ;  that  he  showed  too 
many  and  too  few  details ;  that  he  so  mixed  the  as- 
pects of  both  conditions,  of  life  and  death,  as  properly 
to  represent  neither.  But,  I  pass  this  particular  over. 
There  is  one  point  which  seems  a  staggering  one  : 
that  Colonel  de  Berniere,  who  in  life  was  six  inches 
shorter  -than  myself,  should,  as  a  spectre,  be  my  supe- 
rior in  height ;  a  matter  scarcely  consistent  with  the 
necessity  which  he  seemed  to  acknowledge  of  appear- 
ing to  you,  as  he  did,  at  the  first  hour  of  his  demise. 
"Whether  a  spectre  may  dilate  in  one  region  and  not 
another,  grow  in  height  and  not  in  bulk,  is  a  ques- 
tion, to  determine  which  we  have  no  absolute  criteria. 
But,  according  to  all  vulgar  human  thinking,  the  case 
would  be  an  exceedingly  anomalous  one ;  and  I  repeat, 
one  is  at  a  loss  to  account  for  any  supernatural  neces- 
sity to  exhibit  the  features  of  the  spiritual  man,  or 
living  man,  at  all,  in  a  case  of  supernatural  visitation  ; 
since,  in  such  cases,  it  is  evident  that  the  spectre  has 
only  to  rely  upon  his  mission,  to  find  all  your  in- 
stincts friendly  to  his  recognition.  There  was  no 
necessity  to  appeal  to  you  for  the  recollection  of  fea- 
tures which  look  like  neither  death  nor  life ;  nor  stare 


106  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

at  you  through  eyes  fixed  and  glassy  ;  nor  speak  to 
you  through  lips  blue  and  clammy  with  corruption. 
It  would  not  so  much  offend  our  sense  of  propriety, 
that  he  should  appear  to  you  entirely  as  he  did  when 
alive,  or  entirely  as  he  did  when  dead  ;  or  not  to  ap- 
pear to  you  at  all,  except  in  a  vague  outline  formed 
by  cloud  and  vapor.  As  he  appears  to  you,  it  does 
not  seem  that  he  resembles  either  condition,  that  of 
the  dead,  the  living,  or  the  spiritual ;  but  as  a  some- 
thing made  up  of  all  three.  This  seems  to  me  to 
have  been  the  error  of  a  mountebank,  rather  than  a 
ghost." 

"Frederick,  you  confound  me." 

"  I  do  not  aim  at  this,  Marie.  My  desire  is  only 
to  enlighten  you,  and  to  free  you  from  one*  of  the 
most  monstrous  impositions  that  cunning  ever  at- 
tempted upon  credulity.  The  juggler  who  pulls  these 
wires,  built  quite  as  much  upon  your  imaginative  sus- 
ceptibilities as  upon  his  own  adroitness." 

"  I  confess  myself  greatly  impressed  by  what  you 
have  said ;  but  when  I  remember  that  dreadful  revela- 
tion— that  cruel  secret — " 

"  This  seems  to  me  scarcely  more  difficult  than  any 
other  portion  of  the  mystery.  I  little  doubt  that  you 
yourself  have  betrayed  this  secret  a  thousand  times." 

"  How,  when,  where,  to  whom  ?" 

"  To  the  night,  to  the  air,  to  the  silence,  to  the  birds  ! 
Persons  of  the  sanguine  temperament  are  continually 
talking  aloud,  particularly  in  their  sleep.  This  is  cer- 
tain, where  the  mind  is  an  imaginative  one.  It  never 
sleeps.  You  have  never  deliberately  designed  telling 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  107 

this  secret.  Nay,  you  have  watched  your  lips  with 
sleepless  anxiety,  lest  they  should  prattle  unadvisedly. 
Yet  the  very  anxieties  of  that  watch  have  probably 
forced  you  into  speech  the  moment  your  observing 
faculties  were  at  rest ;  and  you  have  soliloquized  the 
apprehensions  aloud  in  respect  to  the  grievous  burden 
which  lay  pressing  at  your  heart.  Nature  has  re- 
venged herself  in  sleep  for  the  constraints  which  you 
put  upon  her  when  you  were  awake ;  and  your  un- 
conscious lips  were  compelled  to  unclose  their  portals, 
nightly,  for  the  escape  of  that  prisoner  whom  you  kept, 
during  your  wakeful  hours,  under  such  heavy  bonds. 
A  secret,  in  this  condition,  is  the  most  restless  of  spirit- 
ual things.  The  deplorable  necessity  which  such  a 
captive  imposed  upon  the  barber  of  King  Midas,  you 
have  not  forgotten.  The  keeper  of  it,  weary  of  his 
task,  gladly  seeks  to  transfer  his  captive  to  some 
other's  keeping." 

"But  supposing  this  conjecture  to  be  justly  founded  ; 
supposing  me  to  talk  in  my  sleep — which  I  believe  I 
do,  for  I  dream  a  great  deal — who  is  there  to  watch 
the  appearance  of  the  prisoner,  and  take  possession 
of  it  when  it  leaves  its  captivity  ?  Colonel  de  Berniere 
evidently  never  knew  it  while  he  lived.  For  months 
before  his  death  we  slept  in  separate  apartments.  In 
all  that  time,  and  even  since  his  death,  I  have  in- 
variably slept  alone,  my  maid  occupying  an  adjacent 
chamber,  in  which  she  could  only  hear  my  bell.  She 
could  not,  by  any  possibility,  have  heard  the  murmurs 
of  my  voice  while  I  slept,  or  anything  less  than  my  loud- 
est summons,  when  awake.  That  Colonel  de  Berniere 


108  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

never  knew  or  suspected  my  meditated  offence  when 
alive,  I  am  very  sure.  He  had  never  spared  me  the 
discovery,  the  shame,  and  probably  the  punishment 
due  to  my  unhappy  error.  And,  for  my  maid — can 
it  be  supposed  that,  if  she  had  made  the  discovery,  I 
should  have  been  able  to  escape  her  assumptions  in 
consequence,  and  in  due  degree  with  the  importance 
of  the  secret  ?" 

"  My  dear  Marie,  neither  Colonel  de  Berniere  nor 
your  maid  effected  the  discovery.  I  am  very  sure  that 
the  latter  knows  nothing  of  this,  though  she  may  be  in 
possession  of  some  other  secrets  not  wholly  discon- 
nected with  it ;  and  as  for  the  former,  whether  he 
knows  now  or  not,  I  am  quite  as  sure  that  he  is  alto- 
gether innocent  of  the  offence  of  troubling  you.  But 
if  you  spoke  not  your  secret  in  your  sleep — if  you 
suffered  or  summoned  no  confidant  while  you  delibe- 
rately revealed  it,  it  is  yet  most  probable  that  your 
own  lips  have  in  some  way  made  the  revelation  first. 
You  say  that  you  withheld  it  wholly  from  the  confes- 
sional ?" 

"  To  my  shame  and  sorrow  I  did  !" 

"  You  have  spoken  it  in  your  prayers  in  your 
closet,  when  you  fancied  you  had  no  other  auditor 
than  God  himself,  and  when  you  invited  him  to  listen  ?" 

"  Surely,  Frederick,  I  have  so  prayed  and  so  spoken 
in  my  prayers." 

"  How  easy,  then,  to  suppose  that  you  were  heard 
by  other  than  spiritual  ears." 

"Ha!     How?" 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  100 

"  Nay,  I  am  prepared  to  believe  that  you  were  seen 
when  you  compounded  the  poison  with  the  wine  /" 

"  Impossible !" 

"  Not  more  impossible  than  the  ghost !  Nay,  Marie, 
we  are  only  to  believe  the  ghost,  when  all  human 
agencies  are  shown  to  be  unequal  to  the  mystery. 
The  miracle  is  such  only,  when  it  is  totally  beyond 
the  ability  of  mortal  to  achieve.  Hearken  to  me,  now, 
for  this  brings  me  to  another  of  the  arguments  which 
persuade  me  that  you  are  the  victim  of  a  fraud.  In 
your  statement  to  me,  of  all  the  particulars,  you 
mentioned  that  when  the  poison  was  mixed,  and  in 
your  hands  for  use — when  the  medicated  wine  was 
about  to  be  placed  in  the  way  of  Colonel  de  Berniere, 
your  better  thoughts  came  to  your  aid — your  soul  re- 
volted at  the  crime;  and  with  the  firmness  of  a  spirit 
totally  emancipated  from  the  snares  of  Satan,  and 
shuddering  to  have  been  so  far  seduced  to  sin,  you 
cast  away  the  fatal  liquor,  and  fell  upon  your  knees 
in  penitence  and  prayer  to  God.  This  was  in  your 
chamber — in  your  closet — and  when  you  fancied  your- 
self utterly  alone  ?" 

"The  door  was  locked! — what  reason  have  you 
to  think  that  I  was  not  alone  ?" 

"  The  very  best  of  reasons ;  which  I  gather  from 
the  revelations  of  the  spectre  himself.  You  may  re- 
member, while  telling  me  of  the  event,  that  I  asked 
you,  cursorily — led  to  the  inquiry  by  a  sudden  suspi- 
cion— whether  the  spectre  showed  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  the  details  of  your  meditated  crime 
— whether,  in  other  words,  he  distinctly  named  your 
10 


110  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

offence,  and  showed  such  a  knowledge  of  the  particular 
facts,  as  proved  that  he  did  not  rely  upon  a  vague 
suggestion,  made  at  random,  rather  with  the  view  to 
surprising  a  guilty  conscience  of  which  he  had  suspi- 
cion, than  with  the  design  to  chide  and  denounce  for 
offences  fully  known  ?" 

"  Yes — and  I  then  told  you  that  he  betrayed  the 
most  surprising  knowledge  of  all  the  particulars  ; 
described  the  poison  ;  named  it  (and  I  myself  did  not 
know  the  name  before) ;  mentioned  where  I  procured 
it ;  how  I  mixed  it ;  what  I  did  with  it ;  when  first 
mixed ;  where  I  threw  it  from  the  window  ;  and  of  the 
prayer  which  I  made  by  the  bedside,  prostrate  upon 
the  floor  ;  the  very  words  I  spoke ;  the  very  tears  I 
shed !" 

"  Precisely  !  Now,  then,  Marie,  this  very  particu- 
larity assured  me  that  your  Egyptian  was  no  ghost ; 
certainly,  none  dispatched  from  heaven.  When  you 
first  told  me  of  these  details,  I  could  scarce  desist 
from  the  exclamation  aloud,  that  lie  knew  too  much  ! 
at  all  events  he  said  too  much.  He  proved  to  me, 
not  that  he  was  a  prophet,  but  that  he  had  been  a 
witness.  For  why  should  the  spectre  do  more  than 
appeal  to  your  conscience  for  the  sufficient  proof  of 
his  charge?  Are  we  to  suppose  that  the  direct 
minister  of  Heaven,  assured  of  what  he  says,  would 
doubt,  for  a  moment,  his  power  to  compel  your  faith 
in  his  mission  by  a  simple  general  statement  of  the 
guilty  act  which  you  had  meditated  ?  What  need  had 
he  to  say  more  than — c  Woman,  what  hast  thou  done  ! 
What  didst  thou  design  against  thy  husband's  life  in 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY,  111 

the  moment  of  his  debauchery  and  security !  How 
didst  thou  mingle  the  deadly  potion  with  his  drink, 
meaning  to  dispatch  him  to  judgment  with  all  his  sins 
upon  his  head  !  And  wouldst  thou  now  wed  another  ? 
Retire  thou,  rather,  into  the  shades  of  the  convent, 
and  there  deplore  thy  sins  in  sackcloth,  that  thy  soul 
be  not  forfeit  forever  !' — What  more  would  have  been 
necessary  to  strike  the  guilty  heart  into  confession  ? 
and  it  would  have  been  enough  for  you !  But  our 
ghost  was  not  content  with  this  ;  secure  in  his  facts, 
he  was  not  satisfied  unless  he  could  overwhelm  you 
with  them.  He  thought  you  might  be  stubborn.  He 
allowed  too  little  for  conscience.  He  aimed  to  do  that 
which  the  true  prophet  does  not  think  necessary  to 
attempt — to  prove  to  you  the  things  which  your  own 
soul  knew  needed  no  proof  whatsoever  !  The  ghost,  as 
I  said  before,  proved  too  much.  He  proves  to  me,  dear 
Marie,  t hat  he  was  a  living  witness  of  all  your  pro- 
ceedings— all,  at  least,  which  were  connected  with  your 
meditated  offence !" 

"  Impossible  !     Oh,  Frederick  !  impossible!" 
The  nice  sensibilities  of  the  woman  shrunk  at  the 
idea  of  a  surveillance  so  audacious  and  unmanly,  as 
left  her  no  security  even  in  the  sacred  recesses  of  her 
chamber. 

"  Solemnly,  dear  Marie,  I  say  and  believe  this  to 
be  the  truth.  I  have  labored  intently  to  reason  out 
this  mysterious  affair.  I  may  not  satisfy  you,  but  I  am 
myself  satisfied.  The  progress  of  my  inquiry  has 
brought  me,  step  by  step,  to  these  several  conclusions  : 
that  the  Egyptian  is  an  impostor — that  his  purpose  is 


112  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

to  separate  us — nay,  not  only  to  prevent  your  marry- 
ing with  me,  but  to  prevent  your  marriage  altogether, 
and  with  anybody — that  he  has  fathomed  your  secret 
by  merely  human  means — that  he  has  employed 
merely  human  agencies  ;  however  obscure  and  difficult 
this  may  seem  to  you,  in  imposing  upon  you  the  ap- 
pearance of  Colonel  de  Berniere — and  (a  vital  parti- 
cular in  the  future  prosecution  of  our  inquiry)  that  he 
had  acquired,  within  your  chamber,  all  the  knowledge 
which  he  possesses." 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  Frederick,  what  is  it  that 
you  suspect  ?" 

"  That  your  dwelling  is  pierced  by  secret  passages, 
and  that  your  chamber  is  accessible  from  without  by 
avenues  which  you  do  not  dream  of." 

"  I  will  have  it  instantly  pulled  down." 

u  Nay,  nay ;  softly:  by  no  means.  That  would  cer- 
tainly enable  us  to  prove  the  facility  with  which  your 
chamber  might  be  penetrated,  but  would  leave  the 
rest  still  doubtful,  to  trouble  your  thoughts  with 
future  misgivings.  Besides,  it  would  probably  defeat 
all  our  efforts  to  discover  the  impostor." 

"  But  who  can  this  be,  Frederick  ?  I  see  that  you 
have  your  suspicions  of  him,  also." 

"  I  confess  it,  Marie,  but  must  plead  with  you  to 
allow  me,  for  the  present,  to  keep  this  one  conjecture 
to  myself.  It  is  not  improbable,  however,  that  I  shall 
lead  you  to  him  hereafter,  by  irresistible  conclusions. 
But  let  me  proceed.  It  has  been  one  of  my  frequent 
subjects  of  reverie,  the  construction  of  houses  for  de- 
fence and  security,  upon  plans  at  once  satisfying  the 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  113 

rigorous  selfishness  of  the  feudal  Baron,  of  Gothic 
periods,  and  the  no  less  selfish,   but   more  voluptu- 
ous fancies  of  the  Eastern  Caliphs.     I  must  premise, 
by  telling  you  that  constructiveness  is,  perhaps,  my 
most  prominent  phrenological  development.     In  ex- 
ercising it  in  my  dreams,  I  have  indulged  in  the  most 
mixed,  various,  and  wonderful  problems  of  architect- 
ure ;  and,  at  one  time  of  my  life,  in  the  deep  shades 
of  our  forest  domain  in  Tennessee,  I  had  planned  the 
most  audacious  experiment  in  castle-building,  with  the 
very  materials  out  of  which  we  frame  the  common  log- 
house.     I  had  towers  and  bastions,  and  wings  and 
keeps,  donjon   and   drawbridge.     The  wall  was,  on 
one  side,  to  be  incorporated  with  the  dwelling,  and  on 
another  side  the  towers  were  to  overhang  the  dear 
little  Indian  lakelet  of  Istahkapah,  upon  which  my 
infant  eyes  first  opened  to  the  light.     I  had  gardens 
of  rare  luxury,  with  verandas  leading  into  them,  and 
these  so  embowered  with  vines,  fruit,  and  foliage,  that 
the  memories  of  Bagdad,  and  of  the  great  Haroun, 
should  be  forced,  irresistibly,  upon  the  mind  of  all 
who  entered  them.     A  vast  area  was  to  be  inclosed 
by  the  fortifications  and  flanking  towers  of  the  castle, 
in  which  I  was  to  practise  a  thousand  sorceries,  for 
the   delight  and  wonder  of  the  twin  spirit  whom  I 
should  beguile  into  my  forest  empire.     Of  these  dream- 
ing structures,  these  wild  schemes  of  a  restless  fancy, 
I  trust,  dear  Marie,  that  I  shall  yet  be  permitted,  in 
spite  of  our  ghost,  to  unfold  to  you,  as  part  proprietor, 
the  wondrous  history  ;  at  moments  when  your  heart 
shall  most  easily  incline  you  to  forgive  the  builder  for 
10* 


114  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

his  boyish  follies.  At  this  moment,  however,  I  have 
only  to  say — as  suiting  a  present  purpose — that  one 
of  my  favorite  studies  was  the  contrivance  of  secret 
passages  through  the  walls  of  the  castle ;  and  stair- 
flights,  entrances,  and  facilities  for  escape,  such  as 
should  blind  the  sharpest  conjecture,  and  baffle  the 
most  vigorous  pursuit.  You  can  have  no  idea  of  the 
degree  of  perfection  which  I  attained  in  the  prosecu- 
tion of  these  fancies — how  admirably  I  contrived  my 
avenues  in  spaces  inconceivably  small,  which  I  yet 
contrived  to  gain  from  wall  and  chimney  without  leav- 
ing any  apparent  region  unaccounted  for ;  how  art- 
fully I  introduced  passages  into  apartments,  and  sec- 
tions of  apartments,  where  it  was  beyond  common 
conjecture  that  such  could  be  ;  and  with  what  happy 
ingenuity  I  contrived  modes  of  opening  the  secret  en- 
trance into  the  apartment,  making  it  easy  and  difficult 
at  once — easy  of  use  to  him  who  knew,  and  when  the 
emergency  required  it,  and  difficult  of  detection  by  the 
stranger,  even  where  its  presence  was  suspected. 
Thus  my  domains  were  penetrable  or  impenetrable, 
as  I  myself  thought  proper ;  and  my  privacy  might 
be  guarded  by  material  agents,  whose  prompt  efficiency 
was  comparable  to  such  as  are  usually  ascribed  to 
spells  of  magic.  Thus  could  I  escape  unseen  into  the 
forest,  and  from  the  forest  find  my  way  back,  equally 
unseen,  to  any  quarter  of  my  castle.  Vaulted  pas- 
sages beneath  the  ground,  connected  with  a  secret 
stairway  in  one  of  my  flanking  towers,  conducted  me 
out  to  slopes  and  gentle  swells  of  earth,  which  I  was 
never  to  clear  of  umbrage,  and  my  opening  from  the 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  115 

vaulted  passage  into  the  ample  sunshine  was  itself  a 
discovery  and  an  invention,  which,  were  the  subterra- 
nean a  more  desirable  realm  for  the  habitation  of  the 
great  body  of  mankind,  I  hold  to  be  of  so  much  value, 
that  I  should  certainly  guard  its  profits  by  a  patent." 

Marie  was  beguiled  into  a  smile.  Her  lover  pro- 
ceeded— 

"  These  studies  naturally  made  me  observant  of 
the  susceptibilities,  for  similar  purposes,  of  the  ordi- 
nary dwellings  of  the  citizen  ;  and,  whenever  I  was 
left  to  my  musings,  in  a  strange  house,  I  caught  my- 
self meditating  the  dimensions  of  the  walls,  the  spaces 
between  them  and  the  chimneys,  the  depths  of  fire- 
places, the  wainscoting,  any  apparent  inequalities,  or 
unnecessary  enlargement  of  parts,  any  want  of  sym- 
metry and  proportion  or  adaptation — in  short,  a  thou- 
sand minutise  which  might  either  provoke  doubts  or 
furnish  suggestions  of  the  subject.  It  will  surprise 
you,  as  it  did  me,  to  learn  that  such  schemes  as  I  had 
only  planned  in  thought,  were  comparatively  common 
in  practice,  and  that,  in  numerous  instances,  in  almost 
every  large  city,  human  ingenuity  has  wrought  out  the 
secret  passage,  and  opened  the  mysterious  outlet, 
through  the  walls  of  the  ordinary  citizen.  Many 
houses,  thus  perforated,  I  am  satisfied  exist  in  this 
very  place.  I  suspect  several,  and  have  discovered 
my  conjectures  to  be  right  in  some  instances  already. 
But  I  never  seem  to  have  thought  of  the  matter  when 
in  your  dwelling — having  my  thoughts  always  more 
gratefully  employed;  always — until  the  moment  when 
the  subject  flashed  upon  me,  as  a  direct  consequence 


116  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

of  that  statement  of  details,  which  the  Egyptian 
made,  when  he  unfolded  to  you  your  painful  secret. 
It  appeared  to  me  conclusive  of  a  human  witness 
rather  than  a  supernatural  visitant,  and  seemed  to  me 
just  the  sort  of  testimony  which  a  person  would  be 
likely  to  afford,  who  had  been  actually  present  at  the 
scene.  How  could  he  have  been  present  ?  A  single 
glance  around  the  apartment  led  me  to  the  conviction 
that  it  was  admirably  riddled  with  secret  avenues.  I 
knew  it  to  be  an  old  Spanish  structure,  and  from  its 
size  and  massiveness,  I  thought  it  not  impossible  that 
it  had  once  been  employed  for  government  or  reli- 
gious purposes.  Tradition  may  have  told  you  some- 
thing on  this  subject,  but  the  matter  is  by  no  means 
important.  The  secret  passages  are  unquestionably 
in  the  dwelling,  very  possibly  connecting  all  the 
apartments ;  and  now  the  question  occurs — how  are 
we  to  penetrate  the  mystery  without  being  discovered 
by  the  enemy,  or  alarming  him  in  his  hiding-places  ? 
It  is  important  not  only  to  discover  lioiv  your  house 
is  haunted,  but  by  whom.  Are  you  prepared,  dear 
Marie,  to  facilitate  my  examination — which  can  only 
effectually  be  done  by  yielding  yourself  to  a  series  of 
regulations,  the  value  of  which  I  have  already  dis- 
cussed to  my  own  satisfaction,  though  it  is  probable  I 
shall  not  be  able,  in  the  case  of  some  of  them,  to  fur- 
nish reasons  which  will  be  satisfactory  at  present  to 
yourself?" 

Marie  proposed  to  be  docile,  and  her  lover  proceeded 
thus — 

"You  will  again  ride  forth  to-morrow  with  Madame 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  117 

de  Cliateauneuve.  We  shall  again  meet  here  on  fur- 
ther consultation.  You  will  express  no  suspicions, 
and  show  none.  I  believe  that  your  servants  are 
spies  upon  you.  I  know  that  old  Andres,  your  por- 
ter, is  hostile  to  myself.  If  they  are  in  the  employ 
of  another,  your  absence  to-day  will  occasion  them 
great  uneasiness  and  curiosity,  particularly  as  you 
disclosed  nothing  of  your  purpose  previously.  Con- 
tinue your  reserve.  Say  nothing  of  your  ride  to-mor- 
row, but  come — will  you  not?" 

"Will  I  not,  Frederick?" 

"  There  is  something  further.  Make  up  your  mind 
to  retire  for  a  time  into  the  country — to  your  planta- 
tion. It  will  be  a  sufficient  plea,  for  doing  this,  that 
a  change  of  air  is  essential  to  your  recovery,  and  a 
change  of  scene  necessary  to  your  peace  of  mind. 
Let  your  preparations  go  on  openly.  It  is  possible 
that  some  one  will  come  and  counsel  you  against  it. 
Mark  that  person.  If  you  persist,  it  is  possible  some 
person  will  recommend  to  you  a  female  companion. 
Mark  that  person  also.  But  among  these  prepara- 
tions, there  is  one  that  is  to  be  made  for  me.  Here 
is  a  small  case  that  has  the  look  of  a  dressing-case. 
It  contains,  however,  nothing  but  a  few  folds  of  cloth 
thickly  coated  with  an  impressible  wax.  Contrive  to 
send  out  your  porter  on  some  business  that  will  keep 
him  a  couple  of  hours  absent.  When  he  is  gone,  sud- 
denly dispatch  your  maid  to  my  sister,  who  will  detain 
her.  You  will  instruct  her  to  wait  for  an  answer  to 
your  note,  which  may  be  written  on  any  pretext  you 
please.  When  they  are  withdrawn,  take  the  impres- 


118 

sion  of  all  the  keys  in  your  house,  leading  to  every 
chamber,  in  the  waxed  cloths,  and  restore  them  to 
the  case,  which  you  see  has  a  curious  lock.  It  is  one 
that  cannot  be  tampered  with.  Here  is  the  key. 
Keep  it  in  your  bosom  unseen.  The  task  of  taking 
the  impressions,  I  beg  that  you  will  execute  between 
the  hours  of  nine  and  eleven  to-morrow  morning. 
Your  servants  will  return  by  twelve,  and,  at  half-past 
twelve,  my  sister  will  come  for  you.  You  will  take 
the  box  with  you  into  the  carriage." 

"  But  why  this,  Frederick ;  and  why  are  you  so  par- 
ticular about  the  hours  of  nine  and  eleven  ?" 

"  The  first  question  I  will  readily  answer.  When 
you  are  in  the  country  I  will  take  possession  of  your 
house,  through  keys  that  I  will  have  manufactured 
from  the  impressions  in  wax.  They  will  give  ingress 
at  any  hour.  You  must  pardon  me  if  I  decline,  for 
the  present,  giving  an  answer  to  your  second  question. 
All  shall  be  explained  hereafter.  Do  you  trust  me, 
Marie  ?" 

"  Oh,  willingly,  Frederick.  I  have  no  doubts  of 
you." 

"  Something  further,  then,  Marie.  Here  is  a  letter, 
addressed  to  yourself,  written  with  my  hand  and 
sealed  with  my  initials.  But  the  seal,  as  you  per- 
ceive, is  broken.  You  are  to  take  it,  place  it  in  your 
bosom,  allow  yourself  to  be  seen  with  it  by  your  ser- 
vants, and  then  lock  it  away  in  your  desk.  You  are 
ly  no  means  to  read  it.  It  is  written,  and  thus  con- 
fided to  you,  as  a  snare  to  any  one  who  may  tamper 
with  your  cabinet.  It  contains  matter  totally  un- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  119 

known  to  you,  which  is,  however,  so  expressed,  as  to 
seem  to  originate  with  yourself.  If  your  ghost  pries 
into  your  secret  places,  he  will  probably  possess  him- 
self of  the  contents  of  this  letter.  If  so,  you  will  hear 
of  him  again.  The  bait  is  one  that  he  will  fasten 
upon  fiercely,  if  he  be  the  impostor  I  suspect.  In 
this  case,  he  will  revisit  you  within  the  next  forty- 
eight  hours — do  not  be  alarmed — for  he  will  then  only 
approve  himself  to  you  as  as  impostor,  for  he  will 
charge  you  with  that  of  which  you  know  nothing, 
showing,  clearly,  that  he  gathers  his  intelligence 
from  any  but  spiritual  sources.  But  if  he  be  a  saga- 
cious ghost,  he  may  make  you  hear  rather  than  see 
him.  He  will  avoid  endangering  his  first  impression, 
by  a  repetition  of  the  experiment.  Still,  this  is  possi- 
ble. At  all  events,  I  am  confident  that  he  will,  within 
the  space  I  have  mentioned,  revisit  you  in  some  guise. 
Even  without  this  letter,  he  will  have  reason  to  seek 
you — your  movement  to-day  will  have  alarmed  him, 
particularly  as  you  have  gone  forth  with  my  sister. 
It  will  be  naturally  conjectured  that  you  have  seen 
and  been  with  me.  It  will  be  apprehended  that,  with 
recovering  health  and  spirits,  you  are  losing  the  im- 
pression of  terror,  the  wholesome  effect  of  which  was 
to  decree  me  to  banishment,  and  you  to  widowhood. 
A  fear  lest  his  victim  should  escape  him,  lest  his  de- 
sign should  be  defeated,  will  make  the  enemy  anxious 
and  active.  I  repeat  my  convictions,  that  you  will 
either  see  or  hear  of  him.  In  that  event,  it  is  another 
argument  against  his  supernatural  pretension,  since  it 
is  so  easy  to  predict  his  movements.  Yours,  I  feel 


120  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

very  sure,  are  regularly  watched  and  reported.  I, 
too,  have  my  spies  upon  the  alert,  to  ascertain  if  this 
be  the  case.  If  it  be,  it  affords  us  another  reason  to 
doubt  the  ghost's  honesty.  But,  we  must  spare  no 
pains-taking,  to  render  our  proofs  ample  for  convic- 
tion. You  will  see,  from  what  has  been  said,  how  im- 
portant it  is  to  watch  every  movement,  every  word, 
every  emotion,  lest  anything  escape  us  to  make  the 
offender  vary,  and  to  awaken  his  suspicions  that  ours 
are  aroused." 

I  have  really  only  given  the  heads  of  this  long  and 
important  conference — just  enough  to  show  how  tho- 
rough were  the  investigations  of  Brandon — in  what 
way  he  was  preparing  to  work — how  cool  were  his 
speculations — with  what  severity  he  probed  the  argu- 
ment— and  what  determined  earnestness  distinguished 
his  character.  I  have  forborne  all  that  was  digressive 
in  the  interview  between  the  parties — the  varying 
emotions  of  Marie  de  Berniere,  and  the  tender  solici- 
tude of  her  lover.  The  expressions  and  passages  of 
affection  that  took  place,  are  equally  suppressed. 
The  reader  will  conjecture  them  from  a  first  apprecia- 
tion of  Brandon's  manliness,  and  of  the  warmth  and 
soul  of  Marie.  It  is  enough  now,  if  I  add  that  the 
result  of  the  conference  was  to  awaken  in  the  fair 
widow  suspicions  not  dissimilar  to  those  of  Brandon, 
in  regard  to  this  mystery.  His  ingenious  analysis 
seemed  to  prove  already  that  she  had  been  made  the 
dupe  of  her  fears.  Her  indignation  was  greatly 
awakened  by  the  idea  that  a  gross  and  brutal  imposi- 
tion had  been  practised  upon  her  senses ;  and  the 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  121 

gratitude  which  she  felt  for  him  who  had  done  thus 
much  for  her  enlightenment,  added  greatly  to  the 
strength  of  those  sympathies  which  she  had  felt  for 
him  before.  She  frankly  promised  to  obey  him  in  all 
respects,  and  with  a  last  exhortation  to  be  wary,  to 
show  no  eagerness  or  agitation,  and  express  no  suspi- 
cions, he  assisted  her  to  the  carriage,  when  she  was 
accompanied  by  Madame  de  Chateauneuve  to  the 
dwelling  within  whose  walls  harbored  the  whole  secret 
of  her  painful  and  absorbing  mystery.  To  this,  it  is 
probable  that  a  few  more  chapters  will  afford  us  all 
the  clues. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

MARIE  DE  BERNIERE. 

WHILE  Frederick  Brandon  was  thus  conferring  with 
and  counselling  his  mistress,  I  had  been  doing  the 
small  part  which  he  had  assigned  me.  Never  did 
lover  keep  more  vigilant  watch  over  the  dwelling  of 
his  lady-love,  than  I  over  the  gloomy  and  antique 
mansion  of  Madame  de  Berniere.  I  have  stated,  I 
believe,  that  when  the  fair  widow  took  her  departure 
on  her  unexpected  morning  ride,  Andres,  the  mulatto 
porter,  stood  for  some  seconds  watching  the  carriage 
until  it  had  turned  the  corner.  He  was  joined  in  this 
watch  by  the  Betty  of  my  lady,  her  pert  and  officious 
chambermaid.  These  two  conversed  together  for  a 
few  minutes  with  great  apparent  interest.  The  result 
11 


122  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

of  their  conference  seemed  to  be  some  mutual  arrange- 
ment, in  the  performance  of  which  Andres  thrust 
his  porter's  key  into  her  hands,  re-entered  the  house, 
appeared  soon  after  with  his  hat  and  cane,  and,  after 
another  brief  conference,  hurried  away.  Of  course, 
I  noted  the  direction  which  he  took,  at  the  same  time 
not  losing  sight  of  the  chambermaid.  She  loitered 
at  the  entrance  for  a  little  while,  having  a  word  to 
say  to  more  than  one  person  passing,  and  would  prob- 
ably still  have  loitered  but  for  a  sudden  call  from 
within.  She  looked  round  hastily,  and  my  eyes  at 
the  same  moment  detected  a  man's  arm,  in  black 
sleeves,  thrust  without  the  door.  I  saw  only  as  far 
as  the  elbow.  She  obeyed  the  summons,  for  such  it 
was,  hastily  re-entered,  and  closed  the  door  behind 
her.  Some  other  particulars,  slight  enough,  occurred 
during  my  watch  throughout  the  day;  of  none  of 
which  was  I  unmindful,  though,  of  their  importance, 
to  the  objects  of  my  friend,  I  had  serious  misgivings. 
I  expressed  this  doubt  to  him  when  he  returned  that 
afternoon,  and  for  a  time  relieved  me  of  my  watch ; 
but  he  was  of  a  different  opinion.  The  direction 
taken  by  Andres,  when  he  left  the  chambermaid  in 
possession  of  the  house,  seemed  to  confirm  his  con- 
jectures ;  and  when  I  told  him  of  the  man's  arm  from 
within,  he  rubbed  his  hands  with  satisfaction. 

"  Impunity  has  made  the  fellow  incautious !"  he 
exclaimed. 

"What  fellow?" 

"  Never  ask  me  now.  Wait,  mon  ami,  till  the 
game  further  unfolds  itself.  I  will  not  trust  a  con- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  123 

jecture  out  of  my  keeping,  lest  it  shall  deceive  others 
as  well  as  myself.  Enough  that,  thus  far,  my  suspi- 
cions seem  in  a  fair  way  to  be  confirmed.  But  give 
me  something  to  eat;  I  am  famishing." 

He  looked  so.  His  face  was  very  pale,  and  his 
eye  was  at  once  heavy  and  vacant.  His  mind  had 
been  under  a  severe  tension  for  many  hours,  and  his 
frame  felt  the  affliction.  I  poured  him  out  a  goblet 
of  wine,  a  huge  one,  which  he  swallowed  at  a  single 
gulp.  He  ate  voraciously  of  the  food  put  before 
him;  and  when  satisfied,  he  proceeded  to  put  me  in 
possession  of  the  substance  of  the  matter  which  I  have 
already  narrated. 

"If  she  has  firmness,"  he  proceeded,  "I  have  every 
hope  of  success.  But  I  tremble  for  her  strength 
to-night.  She  will  probably  be  subjected  to  a  terrible 
trial,  and  one,  too,  which  will  result  from  my  own 
proceedings.  That  is,  if  my  conjectures  are  well 
founded.  If  she  stands  it — if  she  does  not  fail,  or 
forget,  all  must  go  right.  I  have  done  all  I  could  to 
fortify  her  against  the  trial.  The  enemy  will  suffer 
checkmate,  unless — " 

He  paused,  and  strode  the  chamber  for  awhile ; 
then  resumed — 

"  There  is  but  one  escape — one  means  of  evasion 
from  the  effects  of  that  letter.  It  is  not  possible,  in 
a  matter  of  this  sort — so  much  of  which  depends  upon 
the  imagination — to  guard  every  point  of  the  game. 
There  is  but  one — but  one — and  that  is  one  which 
may  lose  me  every  advantage.  But — " 

This  was  so  much  soliloquy,  I  could  not  then  com- 


124  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

prehend  the  particular  subject  of  his  solicitude,  and 
he  vouchsafed  no  explanation.  He  may  have  seen 
that  I  was  a  little  piqued,  for  he  suddenly  turned  to 
me  and  caught  my  hand. 

"  William,  my  dear  fellow,  friendship  must  serve 
without  questioning,  at  times.  There  are  exigences 
which  demand  it.  If  you  know  me  well,  you  will  not 
doubt  that  you  may  see  into  niy  whole  heart  at  any 
moment,  when  it  really  becomes  desirable.  Believing 
that  I  know  you,  I  have  no  fear  that  your  self-esteem 
will  overthrow  your  sympathies.  Be  content  with  me, 
and  wait  for  the  proper  hour  of  discovery.  Now,  I 
can  show  nothing.  It  is  only  in  the  performance  of 
what  is  absolutely  essential  to  the  duty  before  me, 
that  I  can  talk  at  all.  The  development  of  the  pro- 
blem, thus  far,  in  the  only  secure  way,  has  left  me 
without  strength  for  any  more.  I  must  have  sleep 
for  an  hour  or  two.  At  all  events  do  not  suffer  me 
to  sleep  for  more." 

He  threw  himself  upon  the  bed,  and  to  my  surprise 
was  asleep  in  less  than  five  minutes — sound  asleep — 
not  even  seeming  to  breathe.  I  hung  over  him  with 
concern  for  a  moment,  half  fancying  that  he  slept  his 
last.  Before  the  end  of  two  hours  he  awoke  of  himself. 

"I  was  resolved  not  to  sleep  a  moment  longer  than 
two  hours,  and  the  animal  has  succumbed  duly  to  the 
will  which  governs  it." 

These  were  his  first  words  on  awaking.  He  sprang 
out  of  bed  on  the  instant,  as  if  with  a  new  life ;  his 
tone  perfectly  restored. 

" My  nerves  are  right  again,"  he  added;  "I  feel 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  125 

the  capacity  for  work  once  more ;  but  I  have  lived 
twenty  years,  William,  in  this  last  month.  In  all 
probability,  in  another  month,  you  will  find  my  hair 
absolutely  gray.  Oh,  what  a  trial !  But  it  is  for 
her !  I  am  content  to  perish,  to  save  her  from  such 
a  fate  !" 

He  left  me  a  little  after.  Night  had  fallen,  and  my 
watch  was  remitted. 

"But,"  said  he,  "with  the  hour  of  nine  to-morrow, 
pray  resume  your  place  at  the  window.  I  will  relieve 
you  as  soon  as  possible.  It  is  to-morrow  which  shall 
relieve  me  of  all  my  fears,  or  crush  my  hopes  forever. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

I  MUST  continue  as  a  raconteur  ;  my  own  agency,  at 
this  point,  being  of  little  interest,  and,  perhaps,  no 
importance  to  the  action.  At  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning  I  had  duly  resumed  my  place  of  watch  at 
the  window.  There  was  soon  a  movement  at  the 
dwelling  which  I  watched.  But  a  few  moments  after 
I  had  taken  my  station,  the  outer  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  Andres,  the  porter,  appeared,  with  hat  on 
head,  and  cane  in  hand,  ready  to  go  forth.  The 
maid-servant  came  to  the  door  with  him;  there  was  a 
short  confabulation  between  them,  when  he  took  his 
departure,  she  closing  the  door  behind  him.  Ten 
minutes  more  elapsed,  when  she  reappeared,  shawled 
and  bonneted,  and  sallied  out  also.  The  door  was 
11* 


126  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

then  reclosed  by  some  one  within,  whom  I  did  not 
see.  More  than  an  hour  then  passed,  before  either 
of  these  parties  returned.  They  showed  themselves 
nearly  at  the  same  moment;  Andres,  the  porter,  first, 
and  while  he  knocked,  the  maid-servant  was  seen  ap- 
proaching from  below.  He  seemed  somewhat  sur- 
prised to  behold  her;  and  the  two,  having  joined  at 
the  entrance,  talked  together  with  some  earnestness. 
Suddenly  they  paused,  and  drew  apart,  and,  in  the 
next  moment,  the  portals  were  opened  by  some  per- 
son from  within.  At  twelve  o'clock,  exactly,  the  car- 
riage of  Madame  de  Chateauneuve  drove  up;  the 
knocker  resounded ;  Andres  reappeared,  and  the  lady 
visitor  descended  and  hurried  into  the  dwelling. 
There  she  remained  not  long.  When  she  came  forth, 
she  was  accompanied  by  the  fair  widow.  I  stared,  as 
intently  as  possible,  in  the  hope  to  see  her  face,  but 
unprofitably.  It  was  covered  by  a  thick  veil.  But  I 
could  see  that  she  suffered  from  some  deep  and  pain- 
ful emotion.  She  fairly  tottered  as  she  walked,  and  I 
observed  that  Madame  de  Chateauneuve  supported 
her  to  the  carriage  with  a  most  careful  solicitude.  They 
were  soon  housed  within  it,  the  door  closed,  and  the 
vehicle  was  whirled  away,  in  a  few  moments,  from 
my  sight.  As  on  the  day  before,  Andres  immediately 
took  his  departure  also,  the  maid-servant,  for  the 
time,  taking  upon  herself  the  charge  of  the  establish- 
ment. He  returned  in  the  space  of  an  hour,  and,  at 
three  o'clock,  precisely,  the  carriage  returned  also, 
the  widow  being  again  supported  by  Madame  de  Cha- 
teauneuve, who  entered  the  dwelling  with  her,  and; 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  127 

remained  within  for  a  couple  of  hours,  the  carriage 
driving  off  and  returning  for  her  at  the  end  of  that 
time.  The  two  probably  dined  together.  These  were 
the  events  as  I  witnessed  them  throughout  the  day. 
Night  closed  at  length,  and  my  watch  was  ended. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  Frederick 
came,  and  I  saw  immediately  that  much  had  taken 
place,  in  the  mean  time,  of  a  definite  character.  He 
brought  with  him  a  bundle  and  a  box,  which  for  the 
time  he  consigned,  to  the  security  of  his  trunk.  He 
showed  me  the  contents  that  very  night.  He  was 
more  quiet  and  composed  than  usual,  by  which  I  knew 
that  he  was  not  dissatisfied  with  events ;  but  he  exhi- 
bited no  exultation.  It  was  with  some  impatience  that 
I  waited  for  his  narrative,  which  he  seemed  in  no 
hurry  to  unfold.  He  first  supped  with  me,  and  when 
all  was  cleared  away,  and  we  had  smoked  a  cigar  each, 
I  gathered  from  him  the  following  particulars,  which 
I  report  in  the  manner  of  a  witness. 

Madame  de  Berniere,  having  been  driven  to  the 
house  of  Madame  de  Chateauneuve,  at  once  retired 
to  her  chamber,  where  she  remained  for  a  while  in  a 
state  of  extreme  distress,  not  weeping  nor  moaning, 
but  seemingly  in  despair,  and  utterly  disconsolate. 
At  length  she  was  persuaded  to  see  Frederick,  who 
waited  for  her  in  the  parlor.  She  descended  to  him, 
and  he  received  her  with  a  degree  of  composure, 
which,  considering  her  distress,  appeared  to  her 
rather  unfeeling.  She  seemed  to  reproach  him  with 
it. 

"You  seem  not  to  know  how  much  I  suffer,  Fred- 


128  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

erick.  You  little  know  the  tortures  I  endure  to  satisfy 
you.  Alas !  Frederick,  I  have  learned  enough  to 
satisfy  us  both,  even  you,  who  are  naturally  so  skep- 
tical." 

She  spoke  this  with  a  fearful  shudder. 

"  You  wrong  me,  Marie  !  It  is  because  things 
have  gone  precisely  as  I  expected,  that  I  am  so  com- 
posed. I  see  that  my  calculations  are  about  to  be 
verified." 

"  Indeed  !  I  know  not  what  you  expected — what 
your  anticipations  were.  You  will  be  disappointed." 

"  I  think  not,  Marie.  I  expected  you  to  be  again 
visited  by  your  tormentor,  and  I  see  that  I  was  right." 

"  Ah  !  Should  that  satisfy  you  ?  Is  it  that  which 
leaves  you  so  composed,  while  it  tears  me  to  pieces  ?" 

"Nay,  Marie,  do  you  not  perceive  that  if  I  am 
able  to  predict  the  reappearance  of  the  ghost,  he  is 
somewhat  under  mortal  influence  ?" 

"  One  may  guess  successfully  at  times,  and  prove 
nothing  by  doing  so.  You  could  scarcely  guess  every- 
thing Frederick." 

"  That  is  to  be  seen,  Marie  !  That  will  depend  on 
what  you  tell  me." 

"  And  do  you  require  that  I  shall  go  through  the 
terrible  narrative  !  Must  I  describe  the  horrors  of 
the  last  night." 

"  If  you  believe  that  my  love  deserves  anything  at 
your  hands,  Marie — yes  !  If  you  desire  to  satisfy  mer 
as  you  yourself  appear  satisfied,  of  the  truth  of  a 
terror  which  I  too  must  believe  to  be  legitimate  be- 
fore I  can  give  you  up  !  You  know  my  doubts.  Be- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  129 

lieve  me  that  they  are  now  stronger  than  ever — cer- 
tainly quite  as  strong.  That  you  would  be  again 
visited  by  your  tormentor,  I  was  well  assured.  I 
warned  you  of  it.  Nay,  I  felt  that  his  visit  would  be 
necessary,  and  that  you  should  endure  it,  in  order  to 
afford  us  the  opportunity  to  detect  the  imposture. 
Painful  and  terrifying  as  it  would  be  to  you,  I  confess 
for  this  reason,  I  desired  it.  Had  the  ghost  not  again 
troubled  you,  I  might  have  been  staggered  in  my  doubts. 
As  it  is,  I  am  confirmed.  That  I  should  so  success- 
fully guess,  Marie,  shows  that  I  have  successfully 
reasoned  upon  the  matter." 

"  That  he  should  reappear,  I  myself  have  ex- 
pected, for  the  last  month.  I,  too,  looked  for  him 
last  night." 

"  Yes  !  as  you  have  looked  for  him  every  night 
since  his  first  appearance.  But  it  was  only  last  night 
that  I  predicted  his  appearance.  He  did  not  come 
in  obedience  to  your  fears,  Marie,  but  to  my  will.  I 
required  him  to  come,  and  he  came." 

"You  !     0,  Frederick,  this  is  mere  vanity." 

"  Let  us  see,  dear  Marie — tell  me." 

"  Frederick,  Frederick — of  what  use  to  repeat  ?  I 
tell  you  that  this  powerful  being  knows  my  very 
thoughts — not  only  what  I  have  done,  and  would  have 
done,  but  what  I  have  only  lately  thought  to  do — what 
yesterday  I  thought  to  do." 

"  I  too,"  answered  Frederick,  with  a  smile — "I  too 
Marie,  claim  to  know  your  thoughts  quite  as  well  as 
the  spectre.  Love  looks  into  the  very  heart  of  the 


130  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

beloved  object,  and  needs  not  any  look  out  of  the  eyes, 
any  utterance  of  the  lips." 

"Do  not  mock  me,  Frederick." 

"  Mock  you,  Marie  !  Mock  anything  or  anybody, 
Marie,  when  both  of  our  hearts  are  at  stake  !  Do 
not  think  it.  Do  not  suppose  that  I  do  or  ask  any- 
thing in  mere  curiosity,  with  the  love  of  experiment, 
or  because  of  a  childish  humor.  The  affair  is  too 
serious  for  both — too  terrible  for  you — of  too  life-long 
necessity  and  care  to  me.  But,  let  me  entreat  you 
to  unburden  yourself.  Tell  me  all  as  it  happened. 
Omit  nothing  ;  for  things,  however  seemingly  small, 
in  such  a  case  as  this,  may  be  of  the  most  real  and 
absolute  importance.  In  the  first  place,  did  you  com- 
ply with  all  my  instructions  ?  You  sent  away  the 
servants,  I  know  ;  did  you  succeed  in  taking  the  im- 
pressions of  the  keys  in  the  wax  ?" 

"I  did." 

"  Are  they  here — have  you  brought  them  ?"  he 
eagerly  demanded.  At  a  sign  from  Marie,  the  box 
containing  them  was  handed  him  by  his  sister,  while 
Marie,  herself,  delivered  to  him  the  little  strange- 
looking  key  which  opened  it.  Frederick,  at  once, 
examined  the  contents  of  the  box,  and  seemed  satisfied. 
He  relocked  it  and  secured  the  key. 

"This  is  so  far  well,  Marie ;  and  now — " 

"Oh!  why  relate?  Why  strive?  All  is  useless, 
Frederick !  The  being  who  haunts  me  is  too  certainly 
from  the  other  world.  Take  my  word  for  it,  Frede- 
rick, and  spare  me  the  revelation." 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  131 

"Not  a  word  of  it,  Marie;  for  I  am  sworn  to  save 
you  from  the  arts  of  this  accursed  juggler!" 

"Hold,  Frederick." 

"Forgive  me,  Marie!  But  when  I  know  how  com- 
pletely you  are  the  victim  of  his  arts  and  your  own 
imagination,  I  cannot  easily  restrain  myself.  Let  me 
entreat  you  to  narrate  all  that  has  happened.  Let  me, 
at  least,  judge  of  the  affair  also.  You  have  promised 
me  this  already.  Do  not  regard  me  as  wantonly 
heedless  of  your  feelings,  if  I  conjure  you  to  the  ful- 
filment of  this  promise.  He  came ! — as  I  told  you  he 
would  come.  Well !  Did  you  again  see  him,  or  did 
you  only  hear  him  ?" 

"  I  heard — I  saw  nothing." 

"  If  I  remember  rightly,  I  told  you  that  such  would 
be  the  case — that  it  would  not  be  his  policy  again  to 
show  himself,  and  that  he  would  probably  appeal  to 
one  of  your  senses  only.  Had  you  slept  before  you 
heard  him?" 

"Not  a  wink!  I  could  not  sleep!  I  could  only 
think  of  what  you  had  told  me,  and  to  look  for  him 
and  wait  for  him." 

"My  poor  Marie  !  Your  nervous  excitability  facili- 
tates his  arts.  But  as  you  were  awake,  and  of  course 
particularly  conscious,  you  must  have  observed  whether 
his  coming  was  announced  or  preceded  by  any  circum- 
stances calculated  to  arrest  your  attention.  Pray  re- 
call these  if  you  can,  and  let  me  hear.  It  is  important 
to  the  affair." 

"Everything  was  still.  It  was  after  midnight. 
The  room  was  in  utter  darkness,  for,  as  you  had  coun- 


132  MARIE  DE  BEUNIERE; 

selled  me,  I  extinguished  the  light — though  I  never 
could  sleep  well  with  a  light  in  the  room — and  my 
desire  for  sleep  was  such  that  I  would  have  extin- 
guished my  candle  even  without  your  instructions." 

"Well?" 

"My  attention  was  first  caught  by  a  low  sighing 
sound,  which  seemed  to  rise  just  beside  my  bed." 

"Was  it  momentary  only,  or  continued  ?" 

"Continued,  for  a  few  seconds." 

"Did  it  rise  and  fall,  or  was  it  broken,  or  did  it 
continue  evenly  as  it  begun?" 

"As  it  begun,  I  think.  I  did  not  notice  any  varia- 
tion. At  the  same  moment,  or  soon  after,  I  experi- 
enced again  that  cold  breath,  as  if  from  the  grave, 
which  accompanied  it  before." 

"  Ah  !  that  cold  breath— yes  !" 

"Oh  !  it  had  a  deathly  faintness,  chilling  me  to  the 
heart,  and  as  I  felt  it  spread  over  me,  I  trembled  at 
what  I  had  to  expect.  That,  alone,  Frederick,  proved 
the  approach  of  something  unearthly." 

"  Nothing  worse  than  the  opening  of  a  door,  Marie ! 
But,  go  on." 

"  Ah  !  Frederick,  this  incredulity  is  dreadful.  But 
it  will  be  silenced  when  you  hear." 

"We  shall  see.    You  heard  then  a  rustling  sound?" 

"I  did — and  then  the  voice." 

"Exactly  ^  but  before  you  tell  me  anything  more, 
let  me  know  if  you  disposed,  as  I  told  you,  of  the 
opened  letter  which  I  gave  you  ?" 

"I  did." 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  .  133 

"  Did  you  leave  it  where  it  might  be  seen,  while  you 
were  at  dinner  with  my  sister?" 

"In  the  toilet-box — of  course,  I  forbore  to  look 
into  it  myself." 

"And  you  have  not  done  so  since  ?" 

"  Surely  not." 

"  It  remained  on  your  toilet  all  the  afternoon  and 
night  ?" 

"Yes :  during  the  whole  time." 

"And  you  kept  as  much  out  of  the  chamber  as 
possible  ?" 

"  Avoided  it  almost  wholly  until  I  retired  for  the 
night." 

"  Good ! — Have  you  brought  the  letter  with  you 
now?" 

"  I  have  it  here  ;"  touching  her  bosom. 

"  Very  well.  And  now,  dear  Marie,  let  it  remain 
there  for  awhile,  and  go  on  with  your  narration.  The 
visitor  spoke  to  you  at  last?" 

"  Believe  me,  Frederick,  it  was  exactly  the  voice  of 
Colonel  de  Berniere !" 

"  Of  course !  That  was  to  be  expected.  That  was 
what  you  expected.  You  are  to  assume  that  the 
imitation  was  as  perfect  as  possible  !" 

"It  was  his  very  voice!  And  he  adjured  me 
against  my  doubts — 0  !  very  solemnly,  very  forcibly, 
very  eloquently." 

"But  this  was  surely  very  unlike  Colonel  de  Ber- 
niere in  his  lifetime.  Do  you  not  think  that,  if  his 
voice  undergoes  no  change,  there  should  be  also  as  little 
change  as  possible  in  his  style  and  manner  of  speech  ? 
12 


134     .  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

But,  let  me  not  interrupt  you.  He  exhorted  you 
against  your  doubts,  and  was  particularly  earnest 
against  your  suffering  the  wholesome  effect  of  his 
first  visit  to  become  impaired  ?" 

"  That,  in  truth,  was  what  he  said." 

"  You  see,  I  can  interpret  for  the  ghost.  Let  me 
state  further,  that  he  again  brought  before  your  eyes, 
with  fearful  distinctness,  the  alleged  crime  which 
gives  him  power  over  you.  He  was  terribly  impres- 
sive in  the  picture  which  he  drew  of  your  meditated 
guilt;  and  awful  were  his  assurances  that  it  could  only 
be  atoned  for  by  a  life  of  self-denial  ?" 

"  He  certainly  said  that,  also,  Frederick." 

"  See  you  not,  then,  that  he  leaves  the  grave  only 
to  repeat  things  which  poor  living  mortals  can  say 
just  as  well  ?" 

"  Ah  !  if  that  were  all,  Frederick  ;  but  what  if  he 
read  my  secret  thoughts  ?" 

"  That  were  something,  Marie,  if,  indeed,  you 
Jiave  any  secret  thoughts.  But  that  is  doubtful. 
There  are  few  natures  so  wanting  in  secretiveness  as 
yours.  You  are  possessed  of  as  few  reserves  as  any 
living  being.  It  is  not  in  your  nature  to  be  secret, 
Marie ;  were  you  more  secretive  you  would  be  more 
suspicious,  and  less  easily  deceived.  You  are  frank 
and  impulsive,  and  are  very  apt  to  exhibit  on  your 
face  what  is  swelling  and  striving  in  your  heart.  But 
what  were  the  especial  secrets,  known  to  no  living 
person  but  yourself,  which  the  visitor  yet  made  known 
to  you  ?" 

"You  are  very  skeptical,  but  you  shall  hear;  and  I 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  135 

cannot  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  explain  away 
what  I  am  now  going  to  tell  you.  You  must  not  take 
it  amiss,  Frederick,  if,  compelled  as  I  am  to  show  you 
everything  that  was  said  to  me,  I  reveal  to  you  those 
thoughts  and  purposes  of  my  own,  which  I  had  other- 
wise never  spoken  of  to  you.  You  must  know,  then, 
that,  among  other  things,  the  being  said  thus — I  give 
it  nearly  in  his  own  language  : — 

"You  are  even  now  meditating,"  said  he,  "to  be- 
stow a  fortune  on  the  man  for  whom  you  feel  a  pas- 
sion. You  propose  to  confer  upon  him  a  property  of 
forty  thousand  dollars  !  What  right  have  you  to  this 
property  ?  None  !  You  forfeited  all  right  to  it  by 
your  crime.  You  are,  yourself,  but  a  pensioner. 
Shall  you  presume,  you  who  are  a  convict  in  the  sight 
of  God,  if  not  in  your  own  eyes,  to  deal  in  magnifi- 
cent gifts.  Even  were  the  property  yours,  in  your 
own  right,  and  not  that  of  the  husband  whom  you 
have  wronged,  it  would  require  all  of  it,  ay,  and  much 
more,  in  prayers,  penance,  solitude,  the  utter  abandon- 
ment of  the  world,  the  utter  resignation  of  your 
whole  being  to  a  religious  life,  to  atone  for  your  terri- 
ble sin.  Beware,  Marie  de  Berniere,  of  what  you 
do  !  Beware  that  you  do  not  close  against  yourself 
all  the  doors  of  mercy.  Let  not  your  passion  for 
this  new  lover  become  the  means  for  prolonging  your 
punishment — for  making  it  of  eternal  duration." 

"And  had  you  meditated  this  bounty,  Marie?" 
asked  Frederick,  in  a  subdued  voice. 

"  Forgive  me,  Frederick,  but  I  had,  more  than  a 
month  ago ;  and  when  I  felt  that  there  was  an  impas- 


136  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

sable  gulf  between  us,  I  came  to  the  resolution  to 
do  so.  Nay,  the  very  amount  which  this  being  indi- 
cated, was  the  very  amount  which  I  had  designed  to 
convey  to  you." 

"And  you  said  nothing  of  this  purpose  to  anybody 
— to  my  sister,  to  your  solicitor,  to  your  confessor  ?" 

"To  no  one!" 

"  And  did  you  think,  Marie,  to  compensate  me  with 
this  money  for  the  loss  of  yourself?  Did  you  believe 
that  my  affections  could  be  bought  off  with  a  fortune  ? 
Did  you  suppose  that  I  would  accept  this  money, 
Marie?" 

"Oh!  why  not?" 

"  Enough,  that  it  could  not  be  so  ;  that  your  bounty 
would  have  been  tendered  in  vain.  I  am  not  wealthy, 
Marie,  but  I  am  not  a  pensioner.  Wronged  by  you, 
in  the  privation  of  yourself,  I  could  have  taken  nothing 
at  your  hands.  But,  it  needs  not  that  I  should  dwell 
on  this.  And  this  revelation  of  your  ghost,  you  con- 
ceive conclusive  of  his  mysterious  and  supernatural 
mission?" 

"  What  else  can  I  suppose  ?" 

"Ah!  Marie,  you  have  still  to  learn  how  power- 
fully subtle  is  the  capacity  of  the  cool  philosopher  to 
penetrate  the  secrets  of  the  human  heart." 

"  But  how  should  he  know,  Frederick,  that  I  had 
designed  to  convey  to  you  this  property  ?" 

"  How  should  he  know  ?  How  should  I  know  the 
same  thing  ?" 

"You?" 

"  Yes !     Ask  my  sister.      She  will  tell  you  that 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  137 

three  days  ago  I  told  her  the  same  thing ;  and  that 
was  two  days  in  advance  of  your  ghostly  revelation." 

"Impossible !" 

"  True  ! — But  I  did  not  leave  it  to  her  testimony 
alone  to  establish  the  truth  of  what  I  said.  Now  take 
from  your  bosom  the  letter  which  I  gave  you,  and 
about  which  I  gave  you  such  special  directions.  You 
will  see  that  it  has  served  its  purpose.  It  will  show 
you  the  mysterious  source  from  which  your  ghost 
picked  up  your  secret." 

Madame  de  Berniere  hastily  snatched  the  letter 
from  her  bosom,  and  rapidly  perused  it,  with  signs  of 
extreme  astonishment  as  she  did  so.  It  had  been  art- 
fully prepared,  as  if  after  a  conference  with  herself, 
and  was  a  seemingly  ingenious  disclaimer,  on  the  part 
of  Brandon,  of  the  fortune  which  (it  was  alleged)  she 
had  proposed  to  bestow  upon  him,  while  declaring  her 
purpose  to  retire  from  the  world.  The  very  amount 
thus  asserted  to  have  been  proffered,  forty  thousand 
dollars,  was  stated  in  figures.  "  As  if  forty  thousand 
dollars,  Marie" — such  was  a  part  of  the  language — 
"  could  reconcile  me  for  your  loss.  As  if  I,  revelling 
in  your  wealth,  could  remember  with  satisfaction,  that 
you  are  in  solitude,  and  dooming  me  to  an  even  worse 
solitude  than  your  own.  No !  no !  Marie,  I  cannot 
receive  your  money  in  lieu  of  yourself!" 

There  was  much  more  in  the  same  vein,  but  it  needs 
not  be  given  here. 

"  How  could  you  know,  Frederick,  that  I  had  any 
such  design  ?" 

12* 


138  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

"  From  my  knowledge  of  you  and  your  character 
— your  heart,  your  generous  impulses." 

"  But  the  very  amount,  too — how  could  you  happen 
on  that?" 

"  A  good  guess  only,  founded  upon  what  you  had 
voluntarily  told  me,  long  ago,  of  the  extent  of  your 
possessions,  and  a  knowledge  of  the  persons,  Colonel 
de  Berniere's  remote  kindred,  for  whom  you  have 
hitherto  provided,  and  for  whom  you  would  consider 
yourself  still  bound  to  provide.  I  thought  it  just  as 
likely  as  not,  that  you  would  endeavor  to  force  upon 
me  at  least  half  of  your  fortune." 

"  And  so  I  would,  and  such  was  my  very  purpose. 
And  you  suppose  that  the  contents  of  this  letter  be- 
came known  to  my  visitor  ?" 

"  It  was  prepared  for  him!  And  if  you  still  enter- 
tain any  doubts  that  he  has  possessed  himself  of  its 
contents — that  from  these,  alone,  he  has  derived  his 
knowledge  of  your  purposes,  there  is  one  circumstance 
that  should  remove  all  doubts  from  your  mind." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  You  say  that  you  meditated  this  purpose  more 
than  a  month  ago ;  yet,  you  see,  that  he  has  not  con- 
ceived it  essential  to  warn  you  against  it  in  all  this 
interval.  He  has  waited  until  the  evidence  was  actu- 
ally embodied  by  the  hands  of  another.  In  plain 
terms,  he  knew  nothing  of  your  secret  purposes  until 
I  wrote  them  out  in  a  good  broad,  bold  English  hand, 
and  placed  them  in  the  treacherous  guardianship  of 
your  cabinet,  in  your  own  hands  and  chamber." 

"  Father  in  heaven  !  to  what  am  I  exposed." 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  189 

"To  the  arts  of  a  most  pernicious  and  cunning  im- 
postor, whom  we  shall  detect  and  expose  fully,  if  you 
will  only  be  resolute,  and  do  not  suffer  your  impulse 
and  your  imagination  to  become  the  involuntary  allies 
of  his  frauds." 

"  What  further  shall  I  do,  Frederick  ? — save  me, 
save  me  !  Convince  me  of  what  you  suspect,  dear 
Frederick,  if  you  love  me,  if  you  would  in  truth  pre- 
serve me  for  yourself." 

He  caught  her  in  a  fervent  embrace. 

"  I  will  save  you,  Marie  !  You  are  too  precious  to 
my  heart  and  hope  to  lose." 

The  conversation  was  continued  much  longer ;  but 
its  results  will  suffice  our  purposes,  contained  in  the 
closing  directions  of  Brandon. 

"You  are  watched  here,  as  far  as  is  possible,  at 
every  step.  Your  mulatto  porter,  Andres,  and  your 
chambermaid,  are  both  spies  upon  you.  It  is  possible 
that  your  cook  and  coachman  are  both  in  the  league 
against  you.  To  guard  against  all  of  these,  and  other 
persons,  have  all  my  precautions  been  taken.  My 
training  as  a  woodsman  has  taught  me  a  sort  of  forest 
strategy  which  has  been  very  useful  to  me  in  city  life, 
strange  as  it  may  appear.  I,  too,  have  my  spies  upon 
you.  Scarcely  ever  do  you  leave  your  house,  but 
Andres  disappears  also.  He  goes  ever  in  the  same 
direction.  He  visits,  on  such  occasions,  always  the 
same  person. " 

"Who  is  that?" 

"Not  yet !  It  is  not  yet  time  for  you  to  know. 
But  such  is  the  case,  and  I  know  that  Andres  and 


140  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

your  girl  have  an  understanding  in  regard  to  this 
matter.  I  thought  it  likely  that  the  ghost  would  find 
some  human  allies  who  would  openly  approach  you 
with  exhortations  against  me  and  my  sister.  But,  it 
is  evident  that  they  feel  the  ground  to  be  too  danger- 
ous. They  will  attempt  nothing  openly,  and  we  have 
only  to  guard  against  their  secret  operations.  They 
will  now  hardly  oppose  directly  any  of  your  purposes, 
if  expressed  boldly  on  your  part,  as  purposes  entirely 
determined.  You  must  now  prepare  for  a  visit  to 
your  plantation.  Go  for  a  week.  Let  your  servants, 
and  all  others  who  seek  you,  hear  of  your  design. 
Have  no  reserves  about  it.  Your  health  has  suffered 
— you  need  change  of  air — you  will  recruit  for  a  week 
or  so  in  the  country.  Set  out  as  soon  as  possible. 
Carry  all  your  servants  with  you.  This  will  in  some 
degree  satisfy  the  ghost  of  the  safety  of  your  move- 
ments, since  these  are,  all  of  them,  the  spies  which  he 
keeps  upon  you.  He  will  look  to  them  to  report  of 
the  first  danger  arising  from  your  meeting  with  me. 
We  will  not  meet;  and  the  better  to  disarm  their  sus- 
picions, you  will  exhibit  to  them  the  most  invariable 
despondency  and  affliction.  This  is  what  they  look 
to  see  as  the  proper  fruits  of  their  operations.  Before 
you  go,  however,  you  must  sign  this  paper  which  I 
have  prepared.  Read  it.  You  will  see  that  it  con- 
tains a  full  authority  for  me  to  take  possession  and 
have  the  charge  of  your  house  during  your  absence. 
It  is  barely  possible  that  I  may  have  to  assert  this 
authority  and  to  show  this  paper.  I  will  not  do  so 
unless  it  shall  become  necessary  to  justify  myself  for 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  141 

being  found  there;  an  event  which  I  will  do  my  best 
to  guard  against." 

Here  the  conference  ended ;  the  parties  soon  sepa- 
rated ;  and  in  two  days  after,  Marie  de  Berniere  sud- 
denly left  town  for  her  plantation  residence. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

MEANWHILE,  Frederick  Brandon  was  busy  making 
all  the  necessary  preparations  for  the  further  object 
which  he  had  in  view.  As  soon  as  Marie  de  Berniere 
had  left  the  city,  he  came  to  me. 

"  This  very  night,  William,  we  begin  our  explora- 
tions. I  feel  that  they  will  not  be  in  vain.  Our  an- 
tagonist can  do  nothing  to  prevent  us  now.  It  is 
only  necessary  that  we  choose  our  time  with  reference 
to  his  employment  elsewhere ;  and,  fortunately,  I  am 
in  a  situation  to  know  where  he  is  at  certain  moments." 

"But  who  is  he,  Fred?" 

"  Wait,  William.  We  shall  know  something  more 
— perhaps  all — this  very  night.  Look  at  these  keys. 
They  give  us  access  to  the  dwelling  of  Marie.  See 
this  box  and  bag.  They  contain  my  probes  and  in- 
struments for  penetrating  secret  places.  I  pride 
myself  on  my  faculty  that  way.  You  must  assist  me 
in  carrying  my  tools.  You  will  take  the  bag  and  I 
the  box.  At  nine  to-night  we  must  enter  our  new 
lodgings.  My  adversary  is  anxious,  but  he  can  do 
nothing  more." 


142  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  is  anxious  ?" 
"  By  instincts,  such  as  ordinary  people  too  much 
undervalue,  but  which  were  never  given  to  us  in  vain. 
\feel  that  he  is  anxious.  I  know  that  he  is  now  dis- 
armed. Perhaps  I  conjecture  his  anxiety  by  the  de- 
portment of  his  agents.  I  saw  old  Andres,  and  the 
chamber-maid  of  Marie  this  morning  as  they  followed 
their  mistress.  They  did  not  see  me,  and  I  could 
watch  them  at  pleasure.  They  had  the  look  of  per- 
sons thoroughly  bewildered.  Marie  whispered  to  my 
sister,  just  as  they  were  about  to  separate,  that  she 
was  earnestly  urged  not  to  leave  town.  But  the  dear 
woman  was  firm.  They  fear  that  we  shall  meet  else- 
where— they  feel,  or  rather  their  secret  tutor  feels 
that,  out  of  that  house,  he  can  no  longer  raise  the 
ghost  at  pleasure." 

After  a  little  further  conversation,  which  I  need 
not  report,  Frederick  once  more  disappeared.  With 
dark,  he  returned,  bringing  some  small  articles  with 
him,  which  he  did  not  show  to  me.  He  was  in  excel- 
lent spirits.  Doing  or  contemplating  work,  he  had 
the  energy  and  eye  of  an  eagle ;  and  his  conversation 
rose  frequently  into  passionate  bursts  of  eloquence. 
A  wonderful  capacity  for  labor  and  a  rare  enthusi- 
asm of  temperament  were  his  great  secrets,  in  con- 
nection with  a  quality  of  calm,  calculating  thought, 
which  is  quite  as  rare  in  such  association.  At  the 
appointed  time  we  sat  out  for  the  region  devoted  to 
exi)loration — I  carrying  the  bag,  he  the  box  and 
some  small  bundles,  all  concealed  under  our  cloaks. 
The  night  was  sufficiently  dark  to  cover  our  move- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  143 

ments.  It  was  cloudy,  the  streets  were  imperfectly 
lighted ;  this  was  not  a  trading  portion  of  the  city ; 
and,  in  the  short  space  between  our  house  and  that 
of  Madame  de  Berniere,  we  met  nobody.  The  key 
was  applied  to  the  outer  door  and  fitted  to  a  charm. 
We  were  soon  sheltered  within  the  gloomy  and  mys- 
terious edifice,  which  I  have  already  described  as  a 
double  house,  large,  lofty,  and  of  antique  character. 
It  was  probably  one  of  the  very  oldest  fabrics  of  this 
already  ancient  city.  Having  secured  the  door  be- 
hind us,  we  laid  down  our  burdens,  and  prepared  to 
strike  a  light ;  an  operation  which,  in  these  days  of 
locofocoism,  would  be  pronounced  a  very  tedious  one, 
working,  as  we  did,  with  the  old  implements,  flint 
and  steel,  and  tinder-box.  We  had  with  us  a  dark 
lantern,  which  soon  gave  us  a  certain,  though  a  feeble 
guidance.  As  soon  as  the  light  was  fairly  kindled, 
and  before  taking  another  step,  Frederick  proceeded 
to  thrust  a  steel  awl  into  the  wood  of  the  outer  en- 
trance, just  above  the  bolt  of  the  lock,  so  that  nobody 
could  enter  from  without  even  if  in  possession  of  a 
key.  Our  key  we  had  taken  out  of  the  lock  as  soon 
as  the  door  was  made  fast. 

"  We  must  provide,  in  this  way,  that  no  one  shall 
surprise  us." 

The  same  precautions,  I  may  as  well  mention,  were 
taken  in  regard  to  every  door  through  which  we 
passed. 

"  The  communications  between  the  several  rooms," 
said  Frederick,  "  may  not  be  by  secret  avenues.  We 


144  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

must  guard  against  the  enemy  coming  upon  us  through 
the  ordinary  passages." 

We  found  ourselves,  as  soon  as  the  lamp  was  lighted, 
in  the  great  hall  of  the  building,  constituting  the  first 
entrance  from  the  street.  It  was  a  long,  rather  broad, 
and  lofty  passage,  at  the  lower  end  of  which  the  stair- 
flight  wound  upward  through  the  building.  The  floor 
was  of  dingy  white-marble  slabs,  not  a  little  worn. 
Frederick  made  me  remark  the  fact  that  the  wall  was 
lined  and  panelled  throughout  with  black  cypress,  in- 
stead of  being  plastered  ;  the  panelling  was  heavy, 
with  great  massive  mouldings  of  wood,  while  the 
stair-flight  left  no  space  beneath,  but  was  closed  in, 
and  seemed  to  form  a  spacious  closet,  or  series  of 
closets,  all  of  which  was  done  in  a  heavy  panelling, 
the  same  as  the  wall.  We  tried  at  these  apparent 
closets,  and  found  one  of  them  partly  open.  It  was 
a  crypt,  employed  for  hanging  up  cloaks,  hats,  um- 
brellas, &c. ;  the  pegs  still  bore  some  articles,  appa- 
rently of  servants'  clothing.  There  was  evidently 
space  for  several  other  closets,  though  we  found  but 
one  more,  and  that  was  locked. 

"  We  may  examine  these  hereafter,"  said  Frederick. 
"  How  deep  that  closet  may  go,  is  a  question.  But, 
though  we  see,  apparently,  all  the  space  accounted 
for,  yet  it  is  surprising  how  much  may  still  really  be 
concealed  from  the  most  inquiring  eye,  unless  submit- 
ted to  tests  of  actual  measurement.  Let  us  first  se- 
cure this  back  door,  and  then  ascend  to  the  chamber. 
It  is  there  that  we  must  seek  the  secret." 

We  drove  another  little  spear  of  steel  over  the  bolt 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  145 

of  the  lock,  so  as  to  prevent  its  motion,  and  then 
moved  up  the  massive  stairway.  It  creaked  beneath 
our  steps,  and  the  slight  sound,  suddenly  made  in  the 
silence  of  that  dim,  ancient,  and  (as  alleged)  haunted 
habitation,  stirred  my  heart  with  a  disquieting  sensa- 
tion. But  we  went  forward  boldly,  and  as  rapidly  as 
we  could  under  the  guidance  of  our  dark  lantern.  On 
reaching  the  second  floor,  Frederick  bade  me  observe 
that  the  walls  continued  to  be  heavily  panelled  as 
below  ;  but  we  did  not  linger  to  examine  them.  My 
companion,  at  once  fitting  his  key,  led  the  way  into 
the  chamber  of  Marie  de  Berniere.  It  was  a  spacious 
and  beautifully  furnished  apartment,  hung  with  great 
mirrors,  and  graced  with  several  old  cabinet  pictures, 
all  French,  and  from  the  hands  of  eminent  painters. 
Our  light  did  not  suffice  for  their  examination,  nor 
had  we  the  leisure  for  this  purpose.  But  it  was  evi- 
dent that  Frederick  surveyed  the  scene  with  a  deep, 
as  with  a  silent,  interest.  The  mirror  before  which 
the  beloved  object  attires  and  adorns  her  person,  the 
bath  which  purely  receives  her  pure  and  lovely  form, 
the  couch  on  which  she  dreams  of  innocent  happiness 
— these  can  never  be  beheld  by  a  noble-hearted  lover, 
without  awakening  the  most  sweet  and  touching  emo- 
tions. Frederick  held  up  the  lamp  and  looked  around 
him  without  a  word,  but  with  evident  curiosity  and  a 
full  heart.  At  length,  he  spoke — 

" My  poor  Marie!     What  has  she  not  been  com- 
pelled to  endure  in  this  place — a  place  in  which  lux- 
ury and  taste  have  equally  striven  to  secure  her  hap- 
piness.    It  is  for  me,  and  because  of  me,  that  she  has 
13 


146  MARIE  DB  BERNIERE; 

been  made  to  suffer  so  much.  I  would  die  to  relieve 
her  of  this  sorrow,  William.  She  loves  me — that  I 
feel.  Here,  she  has  prayed  for  me,  wept  for  me, 
dreamed  of  me." 

His  voice  faltered.  I  fancied  that  I  could  see  a 
big  tear  gathering  in  his  eye,  but  he  turned  from  me 
at  the  moment. 

"Love,"  he  continued — "  tears — are  not  inconsist- 
ent with  manhood.  I  feel  that  I  am  a  strong  man ; 
yet,  as  I  love,  I  am  more  assured  of  my  manhood 
from  the  earnestness  and  strength  of  the  passion  of 
tenderness  which  fills  my  soul  whenever. I  hear  her 
name,  whenever  the  tender  thought  tells  me  of  her. 
How  weak  is  the  heart  which  cannot  love.  It  con- 
founds a  brutal  insensibility  with  strength,  and  is  only 
coarse  and  unfeeling — not,  in  fact,  human — when  it 
fancies  itself  strong." 

We  now  proceeded  diligently  to  our  task.  Our  bag 
and  box  were  opened.  They  were  filled  with  a' variety 
of  instruments,  such  as  I  had  never  before  seen,  and 
the  uses  of  which,  at  first,  I  did  not  know.  Some  of 
them  were  instruments  for  measurement ;  others  were 
slender  steel  probes  for  sounding  and  penetrating 
cavities.  There  were  compasses,  and  squares,  and 
saws  of  particularly  delicate  make,  such  as  the  surgeons 
use.  There  were  also  long  and  broad  knife-blades,  of 
singular  thinness,  which  could  be  made  to  pass  be- 
tween the  joints  of  planks  without  widening  their 
crevices.  The  uses  of  all  these  I  had  occasion  to  learn 
as  we  proceeded. 

"This,  if  you  recollect,  William,  was  the  chamber  in 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  147 

which  the  Egyptian  first  made  his  appearance.  That 
night,  Marie  must  have  transferred  her  couch  to  an 
upper  room.  This  apartment  was  partly  given  up  to 
the  guests.  It  was  probably  designed  as  a  retiring 
room  for  the  ladies.  That  door,  which  opens  behind 
the  stair-flight,  and  conducts,  through  a  closed  passage, 
to  the  chief  saloon,  was  locked,  if  you  remember, 
when  we  tried  it,  fancying  that  the  Egyptian  might 
have  escaped  that  way.  It  leads,  also,  through  the 
same  passage,  to  a  door  which  opens  on  the  veranda, 
as  well  as  to  the  one  that  conducts  to  the  saloon. 
The  veranda  was  closed  in  with  canvas,  and  we 
entered  it  through  the  door  of  the  passage,  but  only 
from  the  opposite  apartment.  There  is  a  private 
stair-way,  I  fancy,  leading  from  the  same  passage. 
It  was  through  the  door  which  we  entered  to-night, 
that  we  followed  the  Egyptian  into  this  chamber.  I 
am  satisfied  that  he  did  not  escape  by  the  passage. 
We  must  look  elsewhere  for  his  mode  of  disappear- 
ance." 

''Always  supposing  that  he  was  no  ghost." 
"  Of  that  /  am  quite  satisfied,"  was  the  cool  re. 
sponse.     He  continued, — 

"Now  see.  His  approach  is  always  announced  by 
a  sound  of  sighing,  and  by  a  cold  breath  of  air.  You 
see  where  her  bed  stands.  She  can  hear  this  sighing 
sound  where  she  lies ;  she  also  feels  the  cold  breath  in 
the  same  place.  It  follows  that  the  door  which  opens 
upon  her,  the  draught  from  which  she  feels,  must  be 
tolerably  near.  It  might  be  from  the  passage,  yet,  as 
that  door  was  fast  locked,  and  the  key  on  this  side, 


148  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

when  the  Egyptian  escaped  us,  I  take  it  for  granted 
that  the  sighing  and  breathing  do  not  come  from  that 
quarter.  It  is  most  likely  to  arise  from  the  opposite 
side,  on  which  the  chimney  stands.  The  distance  from 
the  couch  to  this  wall  is  about  ten  feet — an  easy 
distance.  The  fireplace,  you  perceive,  is  one  of  an 
ancient  fashion,  very  deep,  and  designed  for  enormous 
wood  fires.  But  deep  as  it  is,  and  broad,  you  will 
yet  perceive  that  it  bears  no  sort  of  relation  to  the 
immense  breadth  of  surface  which  the  chimney  itself 
occupies.  There  is  a  space  here,  on  one  side,  you 
perceive,  of  more  than  two  feet ;  on  the  other,  of  little 
more  than  fourteen  inches.  Why  this  difference  ? 
Let  us  now  measure  the  depth  of  the  fireplace,  which, 
you  see,  is  very  great,  and  must  have  consumed  a  very 
enormous  and  unnecessary  quantity  of  fuel.  You  see 
the  depth  ?  Compare  this  depth  with  that  of  the  walls 
on  each  side  of  the  chimney.  They  are  not  one-half 
as  much  recessed,  yet  the  outer  wall  of  the  chimney 
must  necessarily  be  panelled  with  that  of  the  rest  of 
the  house.  Assuming  this  panelling  to  be  directly 
against  the  bricks,  and  the  thickness  of  the  wall  far 
exceeds  any  that  we  build  in  modern  times,  involving 
a  prodigious  waste  of  material,  and  quite  unnecessary, 
unless  the  purpose  was  to  build  a  fortress,  and  prepare 
against  cannon.  This  is  not  likely.  This  wall  is 
hollow.  Now,  walls  should  be  made  hollow  in  a  moist 
climate.  It  might  be  well,  as  a  matter  of  charity, 
that  free  avenues  should  be  given  to  the  rats.  I  think 
it  only  good  taste  to  have  rats  in  a  large,  old  dwelling  ; 
but  the  hollows  here  are  quite  too  large,  and  the  first 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  149 

laws  of  art  require  the  recognition  of  economy  of 
space  and  material  as  vital  principles.  There  is  no 
hodman  so  obtuse  as  not  to  know  this.  Here,  then,  in 
this  immediate  neighborhood,  lies  our  mystery.  Let 
us  now  examine  this  heavy  panelling,  which  you  per- 
ceive is  richly  wrought  in  black  cypress,  with  heavy 
mouldings,  extending  not  only  over  the  whole  face  of 
the  wall,  but  from  the  mantle  up  to  the  ceiling,  over 
the  whole  front  of  the  fireplace.  Let  us  see  if  there 
be  anything  peculiar  in  this  moulding.  What  do  you 
perceive?" 

I  looked  with  all  my  eyes  ;  but  everything  seemed 
uniform.  I  could  see  no  part  which  differed  from  the 
rest. 

"The  joinery,"  said  Frederick,  resuming — "has 
been  well  done.  But  the  design  of  the  panelling,  you 
will  perceive,  is  clumsy  and  tasteless,  showing  a  strik- 
ing contrast  between  the  merits  of  the  plan  and  the 
execution.  In  other  words,  the  person  who  could 
execute  such  neat  work,  ought  to  have  designed  a 
more  pleasing  form  of  panelling.  You  will  perceive 
that  the  sections  of  the  panels  are  oblong  and  rather 
narrow,  while  the  dividing  plates  between  each  pair  of 
panels  are  broad  and  massive.  You  will  also  note 
that  there  is  but  one  grand  horizontal  dividing  line  of 
plate,  belting  the  wall,  and  separating  the  panels; 
making  two  sets  only  in  a  wall  fully  twelve  feet  high. 
Thus,  we  have  the  panels  about  two  feet  in  width,  to 
six  feet  in  height.  There  is,  as  you  see,  no  wainscot, 
unless  the  central  belt  of  plate,  which  is  six  feet  from 
the  floor,  can  be  so  considered.  Now,  then,  if  we  could 
13* 


150  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

open  one  of  these  panels,  we  should  find  the  aperture 
to  be  just  about  six  feet  high,  by  two  feet  and  a  few 
inches  broad,  a  width  quite  sufficient  for  the  passage 
of  any  ordinary  man.  If  there  be  such  an  opening, 
it  must  open  inwardly,  the  plates  dividing  the  panels 
effectually  preventing  it  from  opening  outwards  ;  be- 
sides, such  a  mode  of  opening  would  reveal  seams  and 
hinges.  As  good  taste  and  beauty  have  not  been  sub- 
served by  this  plan  of  panelling,  we  must  look  for  some 
other  motive.  I  have  shown  you  one.  I  am  persuaded 
that  these  plates  cover  a  secret  door,  and  that  it  is  in 
close  proximity  to  this  chimney.  The  question  now 
is,  how  to  find  it  out  ?" 

"How  will  you  proceed?" 

"  The  laws  are  quite  simple  in  all  such  cases.  To 
find  the  whereabouts  of  a  secret  passage,  closet,  case, 
or  drawer,  you  have  only  to  find  a  certain  space  which 
is  obviously  unemployed  and  unaccounted  for.  To 
look  for  obstruction  is  the  next  object.  If  there  be  a 
door  here,  of  the  dimensions  I  speak  of,  it  must  be  in- 
dependent of  the  lower  and  the  upper  plates  crossing 
the  panels.  The  lower  plate,  as  you  perceive,  runs 
along  the  floor,  forming  its  moulding ;  in  other  words, 
the  washboard.  It  is  to  be  remarked  that  the  paint  is 
uniform  throughout.  The  common  practice  is  to  give 
the  washboard  a  different  color  from  the  wall.  But 
this,  being  a  legitimate  part  of  the  panelling,  has  been 
justifiably  excepted  from  the  rule.  Now  this  door, 
wherever  it  is,  must  work  freely  of  the  washboard  and 
of  the  upper  plate,  six  feet  above.  If  much  used, 
unless  the  work  were  admirably  done,  it  might,  under 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  151 

a  better  light  than  ours,  betray  its  seams  ;  but  our 
easier  course  will  be,  not  wasting  time  and  eyesight, 
to  probe  our  way  along  with  our  instruments." 

We  did  so.  I  held  the  lantern  ;  and,  with  his  thin 
spatula,  my  friend,  on  his  knees,  proceeded  to  insinu- 
ate the  blade  between  the  heavy  plate-moulding,  and 
the  rest  of  the  panel.  He  commenced  at  the  fire- 
place, working  backwards,  to  the  rear  of  the  building. 
After  a  few  moments,  he  said — 

"It  is  here  !  I  was  sure  of  it !  I  have  not  been 
mistaken  !  It  is  the  very  first  panel  adjoining  the 
fireplace.  You  see,  William,  as  I  pass  the  knife 
down  to  the  floor  a  depth  of  six  inches,  the  width  of 
the  lower  plate,  or  washboard,  I  find  no  obstruction 
the  whole  width  of  the  panel  ?" 

I  noted  the  proceeding. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "let  us  mount  these  chairs,  and 
probe  the  corresponding  plate  above.  If  that  offers 
no  obstruction,  we  may  be  assured  of  what  we  seek." 

This  was  done.  The  result  corresponded  entirely 
to  what  we  had  discovered  below.  The  spatula  work- 
ed free  of  obstruction. 

"Now,  then,  our  difficulties  begin.  We  must  now 
find  out  where  the  hinges  are,  and  how  the  door  is 
secured  in  the  rear.  In  all  probability,  it  is  connected 
with  some  spring,  which  may  be  beneath  the  floor,  or 
in  the  side  of  the  fireplace ;  possibly  in  the  wall,  con- 
cealed somewhere  in  the  panelling.  What  are  the 
conditions  of  such  a  secret  ?  The  first  is  concealment. 
The  second  is  facility.  It  must  be  of  such  a  nature 
as  not  readily  to  be  found  ;  and  yet  it  must  be  con- 


152  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

venient  to  the  hand,  or  the  foot,  of  him  who  seeks 
egress.  Such  springs  are  usually  small,  and  they  are 
correspondingly  feeble.  To  work  efficiently,  they  must 
be  as  near  as  possible  to  the  door  upon  which  they 
operate,  and  whose  hinges  they  influence.  If  we  can 
find  the  hinges,  we  can  find  the  fastenings.  They 
must  be  opposite  to  the  hinges.  If  we  find  the  fasten- 
ings, we  know  in  what  direction  to  look  for  the  secret 
springs." 

Thus  saying,  Frederick  proceeded  with  a  large 
spatula  to  feel  his  way  along  the  perpendicular  lines 
of  panel. 

"  A  secret  which  is  suspected  to  exist,"  said  he,  as 
he  worked,  "  is  already  more  than  half  revealed.  Take 
this  knife  into  your  hand.  Press  it  as  I  do.  Do  you 
feel  the  hard  obstruction  here  ?" 

"I  do." 

"  It  is  the  upper  hinge.  There  are  probably  three. 
Come  down  to  the  middle  one  ;  or — let  me  have  the 
knife,  and  hold  the  lantern.  I  am  more  practised  in 
this  sort  of  experiment." 

It  was  not  long  before  the  knife  was  again  held  by 
the  obstruction.  I  again  felt  it.  It  was  evidently 
metallic,  and  hard.  I  could  make  it  sound,  with  a 
slight  effort  with  the  blade.  A  third  trial  brought  us 
to  the  third  hinge,  which  was  probably  a  full  inch 
below  the  lower  plate,  or  washboard. 

"  Here,  then,  we  have  the  hinges.  The  fastening 
is  necessarily  opposite,  and  against  the  chimney. 
Now  comes  our  most  tedious  scrutiny.  It  must  be 
concealed  somewhere  in  the  panelling  of  the  mantle- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  153 

piece.  It  must  lie  within  convenient  reach,  yet  must 
not  attract  the  eye.  It  lies  probably  in  some  partially 
apparent  nail-hole,  or  in  some  seam  near  the  corner, 
or  it  may  be  among  the  tiles  which  line  the  side  of  the 
fireplace.  Our  first  process  will  be  to  feel  for  an  ob- 
struction on  the  opposite  side." 

His  spatula  was  employed,  but  none  was  felt.  But 
it  was  quite  enough  for  Frederick,  that  he  found  the 
knife-blade  to  work  with  comparative  freedom  up  and 
down,  everywhere,  except  in  one  place. 

"You  see,"  he  observed,  "  that  it  binds  here.  This 
is  about  four  feet  from  the  floor,  and  tolerably  con- 
venient to  the  hand.  That  we  feel  no  other  obstruc- 
tion than  the  binding  of  the  wood,  is  conclusive  to  me 
that  the  spring  is  in  the  rear  of  the  door,  working 
like  a  bolt,  against  it.  This  leads  me  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  is  to  be  found  by  operating  from  the  fire- 
place. Give  me  the  lantern." 

Throwing  fully  open  the  door  of  the  lantern,  so  that 
the  light  should  be  as  ample  as  it  could  afford,  Fred- 
erick kneeled  upon  the  hearth,  never  troubling  him- 
self with  fear  of  soot  and  ashes,  and  thrust  his  head 
and  light  into  the  vaulted  chimney-place.  Here  he 
worked  for  some  time  with  patience  and  in  silence.  At 
length  he  called  me. 

"  I  fancy  I  have  found  it.  Look  you  here.  Here 
— let  me  guide  your  finger.  Do  you  feel  a  small  cavity 
like  a  two-inch  auger-hole  ?" 

I  did.  It  was  on  the  side  of  the  fireplace  next  the 
secret  door,  and  just  behind,  in  the  angle  of  the  cross- 
piece  of  marble  which  ran  directly  over  the  fireplace. 


154  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

"You  perceive,"  said  he,  "that  once  know  where 
the  opening  lies,  and  a  person  standing  outside  cannot 
miss  it.  Stand  without  now,  on  the  corner  of  the 
fireplace,  and  thrust  your  fore-finger  firmly  into  this 
crevice." 

I  obeyed  him.  A  slight  clicking  sound  was  heard 
as  I  did  so. 

"Look,"  said  he,  "does  the  door  open?" 

It  stood  wide,  but  dark,  before  me,  while  the  light 
was  still  in  Frederick's  hands  and  up  the  chimney.  I 
saw  nothing ;  and  so  silently  had  the  well-oiled  hinges 
and  the  spring  performed  their  office,  that  I  had  never 
suspected  the  result.  It  was  only  when  I  attempted 
to  pass  my  hand  over  the  panelling  that  I  found  the 
vacant  space.  Frederick  did  not  immediately  leave 
the  fireplace  after  I  made  my  report.  He  was  em- 
ployed, with  a  probe,  feeling  the  secret  opening,  and 
examining  the  opposite  side  of  the  wall  also.  Cer- 
tainly, he  was  the  most  remarkably  cool  person  in  the 
world,  having,  at  the  same  time,  such  powerful  pas- 
sions. He  exhibited  no  sort  of  surprise  at  the  result. 
In  fact,  he  had  calculated  on  it  as  confidently  as  on 
a  solved  problem.  When  he  came  forth,  he  proceed- 
ed to  inspect  the  opening,  about  which,  as  I  had  never 
seen  a  secret  door,  or  any  similar  machinery,  I  was 
excessively  curious.  The  lantern  was  thrust  into  the 
recess,  and  Frederick — peering  eagerly,  all  the  while, 
over  his  shoulder — examined  it  closely,  looking  par- 
ticularly to  the  flooring  of  the  recess.  The  space 
was  just  sufficiently  wide  for  the  entrance  of  a  single 
person.  It  was  ample  for  this  purpose.  Kneeling 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  155 

down,  Frederick  felt  around  the  floor  of  the  closet. 
He  drew  my  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  was  separat- 
ed entirely  from  the  walls  around  it ;  was  separated 
equally  from  the  floor  of  the  chamber,  and  from  the 
beams  of  the  dwelling.  He  next  showed  me  four  stout 
cords,  fully  an  inch  in  diameter,  working  in  grooves 
against  the  chimney;  and  the  opposite  wall,  which 
was  of  plank,  smoothed,  but  not  panelled  as  in  that  of 
the  chamber.  Standing  upon  a  chair,  he  discovered 
the  tackle  and  pulleys  above,  and  a  stouter  rope  con- 
nected with  them,  the  end  of  which  was  passed  down 
through  a  central  groove  in  the  chimney,  which,  in 
the  centre,  was  perpendicularly  recessed  so  as  to  afford 
additional  space  to  the  person  within  the  cavity. 

"  The  rope,"  said  he,  "  finds  its  way  to  the  lower 
story,  by  which  the  ghost  works  his  way  up.  This 
accounts  for  the  sighing  sound  which  precedes  his 
appearance,  and  forms  one  of  the  spiritual  influences 
operating  upon  the  imagination  of  my  poor  Marie. 
The  other  mysterious  influence  is  that  cold  breath, 
which,  you  perceive,  must  be  the  draught  wholly  occa- 
sioned by  the  opening  of  this  door.  You  perceive, 
William,  that  here  we  have  a  square  box,  in  which  a 
good-sized  man  may  comfortably  stand.  But,  clearly, 
there  is  much  more  space  to  be  accounted  for.  There 
is  still  some  eight  feet  in  length,  from  this  partition 
of  plank  to  the  outer  wall,  in  the  rear  of  the  build- 
ing ;  as  the  walls  of  this  and  the  other  house  neces- 
sarily lie  squarely  and  parallel  to  each  other.  This 
being  inevitable,  it  is  probable  that  another  door  lies 
in  that  plank  partition.  That  must  inwardly  open, 


MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

and  the  fastening,  therefore,  must  be  on  this  side. 
Let  us  look  for  it.  Let  me  have  the  lantern." 

After  a  brief  search  he  called  to  me. 

"  See  here ;  the  very  hinges  are  apparent  on  this 
side.  The  work  has  been  rudely  done.  Indeed,  the 
whole  machinery  exhibits  but  a  humble  condition  of 
art.  It  would  not  long  have  baffled  any  individual  at 
all  curious  or  accustomed  to  such  investigations.  Now 
for  the  fastenings,  which  must  lie  somewhere  in  this 
neighborhood." 

It  required  but  little  painstaking  to  discover  the 
thin  bolt  of  steel,  working  in  a  groove  of  the  plank, 
which  was  employed  to  secure  the  door  of  the  recess. 
Barely  passing  his  hand  over  the  region  where  he 
suspected  it  to  lie,  Frederick  discovered  and  tried  it. 
The  aperture  at  once  unfolded  itself  to  his  gaze. 
Thrusting  the  lantern  into  this  closet,  for  such  it  was, 
it  was  discovered  to  contain  a  small  table,  which  com- 
pletely crossed  the  space,  just  leaving  sufficient  room 
for  the  swinging  of  the  door.  Frederick  passed  into 
the  closet,  and  in  a  moment  after  said  to  me — 

"  Here  is  a  discovery  with  a  vengeance.  Here  is 
the  ghost  himself.  Here  is  his  mask  of  death,  the 
frightful  face  of  mortality  and  Colonel  de  Berniere — 
here  is  the  Egyptian  garment  with  which  the  scoun- 
drel simulated  me  at  the  ball,  and  here  are  sundry 
other  matters,  the  uses  of  which  I  do  not  so  readily 
perceive." 

These  were  held  up  to  me,  one  by  one,  at  the  en- 
trance, as  the  space  would  not  suffer  both  of  us  to 
enter.  The  secret  was  thus  far  conclusively  discovered, 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  157 

and  the  pretensions  of  the  ghost  thoroughly  laid  at 
rest — so  far  as  we  were  concerned.  Frederick  made 
other  discoveries,  but  we  need  not  linger  in  detailing 
them,  as  they  were  all  simply  dependent  upon  the 
main  facts  in  our  possession.  Emerging  from  the 
inner  recess,  and  carefully  closing  the  door  behind  him, 
Frederick  paused  for  a  few  moments,  as  if  for  rest 
and  reflection.  At  length  he  said — 

"  It  is  now  necessary  that  I  should  go  below,  and 
see  from  what  sort  of  Tartarus  our  afflicted  ghost 
emerges  nightly.  To  do  this,  however,  is  not  so  easy. 
It  will  give  us  some  work,  though  I  have  provided,  in 
some  degree,  against  the  necessity.  You  perceive 
that  the  ghost  works  his  way  up,  planted  upon  this 
board  or  floor,  by  means  of  these  short  ropes,  which 
hang  within  the  grooves  in  the  chimney.  These  four 
smaller  ropes  are  connected  above,  as  you  perceive, 
with  four  slender  arms  of  iron,  which  meet  in  the 
centre,  and  are  held  up  by  a  bolt  and  tackle  fixed  in 
the  ceiling  overhead.  The  thicker  ropes  find  their 
way  below,  where  they  are  fastened,  until  the  ghost 
ascends,  when  he  brings  with  him  that  by  which  he 
has  worked  his  way,  and  secures  it,  until  he  desires 
to  return,  by  a  loop  (which  is  measured  carefully  in 
the  rope,  so  as  to  bring  this  footboard  level  with  the 
floor)  to  this  iron  spike,  which  lies,  as  you  see,  conve- 
niently, here  in  the  corner.  Now,  as  this  great  rope 
is  made  fast  below,  the  question  is,  how  shall  we  get 
at  it,  or  in  other  words,  be  able  to  descend  ?" 

For  this  difficulty  I  was  utterly  unprepared ;  but  i$ 
14 


158  MARIE  DE  BEKNIERE; 

was  otherwise  with  my  friend.  He  smiled  at  the 
blankness  of  my  visage,  and  said — 

u  The  process  is  a  simple  one — simply,  by  substitut- 
ing one  rope  for  another,  and  shipping  that  by  which 
the  tackle  is  worked  at  present." 

With  these  words  he  drew  from  his  bag  a  small 
coil  of  rope,  suitable  to  the  purpose.  He  had  pro- 
vided against  the  contingency  which  he  had  fully  an- 
ticipated. Standing  on  a  chair,  which  the  floor  of 
the  closet  could  barely  sustain,  he  worked  overhead 
with  the  dexterity  of  a  sailor.  He  soon  fastened  the 
rope,  which  he  brought,  to  the  centre  of  the  iron 
arms  to  which  the  four  smaller  ropes  of  the  machine 
were  suspended,  passed  the  cords  through  the  grooves 
of  the  block,  and  threw  the  ends  to  me.  Coming 
down  from  the  chair,  we  secured  it,  with  proper  ten- 
sion, to  the  spike,  leaving  the  drooping  ends  below; 
then  reascending,  he  fairly  divided  with  his  knife  the 
rope  by  which  the  machine  was  formerly  sustained. 
But  he  did  not  suffer  it  to  slide  below.  On  the  con- 
trary, his  purpose  was  to  splice  it  above,  and  once 
more  restore  it,  as  it  had  been,  as  soon  as  his  own 
survey  below  was  complete,  and  he  had  effected  all 
his  objects.  His  arrangements  made,  he  dropped  the 
ends  of  his  rope  through  the  groove  in  the  chimney, 
along  with  that  in  former  use  ;  and  taking  with  him 
the  lantern,  between  his  feet,  standing  upright,  pro- 
ceeded to  let  himself  down.  There  was  now  no  ob- 
struction, and  the  machine  gradually  sank  with  him. 
For  the  first  foot  of  its  movement,  we  heard  the  sigh- 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  159 

ing  sound  of  the  rope  very  distinctly.  We  heard  no 
other  sounds,  for  it  was  now  discovered  that  the  face 
of  the  wall,  all  around,  had  been  lined  with  woollen 
stripes,  which  effectually  prevented  the  chafing  of  the 
wooden  frame  against  the  sides.  Once  down,  Frede- 
rick drew  up  the  platform,  upon  which  I  descended 
in  like  manner.  We  found  ourselves  in  a  deep  damp 
cell,  floored  with  brick,  several  feet  below  the  base- 
ment story  of  the  dwelling;  which,  by  the  way,  was 
raised  some  three  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  ground. 
Immediately  beside  us,  as  we  descended,  we  discovered 
that  the  lower  story  was  penetrable  precisely  as  the 
upper — a  discovery  which,  as  we  were  also  easily 
enabled  to  find  the  means  of  entrance  from  below, 
made  our  future  proceedings  comparatively  easy. 
But  our  researches  did  not  stop  here.  Pursuing  them 
with  earnestness,  we  found  an  outlet,  by  an  arched 
way,  under  ground,  conducting  »from  the  dwelling, 
through  the  garden,  and  into  the  precincts  of  other 
habitations.  There  we  followed,  through  damp,  dark 
avenues,  snails  and  worms  lying  in  our  path,  and 
glimmering  upon  the  walls,  which  were  coated  with 
damp  and  slime.  Our  discoveries  were  wonderful ; 
and  we  found  that  we  could  make  our  way  into  the 
other  dwellings,  fully  fifty  yards  distant,  by  means 
precisely  similar  to  those  by  which  the  ghost  had  en- 
tered that  of  Madame  de  Berniere.  Frederick  took 
good  note  of  these  avenues,  which  he  conceived  to 
have  been  the  work  of  the  Spaniards,  when  they  held 
possession  of  the  city,  and  that  they  showed  traces  of 


160  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

the  Spanish  Inquisition.*  But  we  must  not  linger. 
Having  followed  our  labyrinths  as  far  as  they  seemed 
to  lead,  showing  us  the  connecting  links  between  sev- 
eral houses,  we  returned,  and  once  more  reascended 
to  the  secret  closet  opening  upon  the  chamber  of 
Madame  de  Berniere.  While  here,  Frederick  Bran- 
don said  to  me — 

"  You  think  we  have  seen  all ;  but  look  here.  Do 
you  not  see  that  there  is  no  brick  wall  connecting  with 
the  chimney  of  the  adjoining  house?  Do  you  not 
perceive  that  the  wall  of  the  adjoining  house,  as  op- 
posed to  our  eye,  is  of  wood,  and  corresponds  exactly 
with  that  opening  to  the  chamber  of  Madame  de  Ber- 
niere ?  Be  assured,  it  is  penetrable  in  the  same 
manner,  and  we  shall  be  able  easily  to  find  the  fasten- 
ing." 

He  did  so,  and  was  about  to  press  the  spring,  when 
he  paused.  '  •  . 

"The  adjoining  dwelling  is  a  school-house — a  school 
for  young  ladies.  It  is  occupied  by  an  ancient  maiden 
lady,  who  is  one  of  the  teachers.  It  will  be  an  awk- 
ward thing  if  I  open  upon  her  chamber  ;  and  should 
she  detect  me,  the  presumption  will  be  against  us  with 
regard  to  the  use  of  these  secret  passages  !" 

He  paused  for  consideration,  but  after  a  little  while 
said — 

*  Subterranean  passages,  like  those  described,  have  been  found 
by  the  pulling  down  of  houses,  in  New  Orleans,  within  very  few 
years ;  and,  by  the  press  of  that  city,  have  been  ascribed  to  this 
origin. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  161 

"I  will  risk  it.  I  must  get  all  the  clues  to  this  in- 
fernal machinery." 

He  did  so,  and  found  himself  in  a  school-room,  filled 
with  desks  and  benches  ;  books  lay  about  confusedly, 
and  it  was  evident  that  the  room  had  been  only  re- 
cently employed  for  the  purposes  of  instruction. 
Nobody  was  to  be  seen.  The  house  was  wrapped  in 
the  most  death-like  silence.  Frederick  did  not  pur- 
sue his  researches  in  this  quarter. 

"Enough,"  said  he,  "for  the  present.  "We  may 
find  it  necessary  hereafter  to  look  further.  We  have 
done  work  enough  for  the  night.  These  two  houses 
were  evidently  built  at  the  same  time.  They  were 
probably  owned  by  the  same  proprietor.  They  are 
very  old — I  should  think  among  the  oldest  of  the  per- 
manent abodes  of  New  Orleans.  They  may  have  had 
a  common  purpose ;  but  these  are  not  proper  inquiries 
at  this  moment.  We  have  now  other  matters  to  en- 
gage our  attention.  But  before  we  proceed  further, 
let  us  have  some  refreshments.  I  am  positively 
wearied." 

Our  box  afforded  us  some  eatables  and  a  flask  of 
wine.  Frederick  ate  very  heartily,  and  drank  freely, 

"  I  must  eat  and  drink,"  said  he,  "  whenever  en- 
gaged on  such  labors  as  have  lately  troubled  me.  For 
twenty-four  hours  at  a  time,  when  thus  employed,  I 
can  eat  nothing  ;  but  the  moment  I  reach  a  certain 
stand-point  in  my  progress,  where  I  can  look  and  feel 
that  my  feet  may  be  surely  put  down — when,  in  fact, 
conjecture  becomes  conviction — then  my  appetite 
14* 


162  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

comes  back  to  me,  and  I  have  the  vigor  of  a  score  of 
Indians  on  a  long  scout." 

He  did  eminent  justice  to  our  repast.  This  over, 
he  said — 

"  Now,  William,  the  question  is,  what  is  to  be  done 
with  this  ghost  ?  Simply  to  lay  him,  will  not  answer. 
I  confess,  my  feeling  is  such  as  inclines  me  rather  to 
lay  him  out !  When  I  think  of  the  suffering  he  has 
caused  my  poor  Marie,  to  say  nothing  of  myself,  and 
of  that  base  and  selfish  malignity  which  has  made  him 
labor  to  destroy  all  our  hope  and  happiness  in  the 
future,  I  feel  that  I  could  put  him  to  death  with  as 
little  remorse  as  I  would  crush  the  adder  who  awaits 
me  in  the  pathway.  I  have  been  thinking  that  it 
would  be  a  proper  plan  to  take  him  in  the  very  act  of 
villany,  and  make  a  ghost  of  him  in  fact.  It  seems 
his  ambition  to  appear  one,  and  it  would  be  retributive 
justice  only  to  make  him  so  in  reality." 

"  But  who  is  he,  Frederick  ?     You  know  him  !" 

"  Yes,  as  well  as  I  can  know  anything  which,  per- 
fectly assured  of,  one  yet  lacks  the  necessary  proofs. 
But  the  question  is  not,  who  is  he  ?  Let  him  perish,  if 
he  so  pleases,  without  a  name.  It  is  no  crime,  surely, 
to  kill  a  ghost.  A  crime  is  committed  in  the  dark, 
the  criminal  unseen,  unknown  ;  but  the  bolt  falls  truly, 
nevertheless,  since  it  is  at  the  moment  when  his  crime 
is  doing  ;  and  it  is  only  when  judgment  is  over,  and 
execution  done,  that  you  hold  the  light  to  his  face  to 
ascertain  whose  dog  it  is  that  has  been  shot.  Now 
can  I  so  arrange  it  that  this  scoundrel  shall  be  taken 
and  executed  at  the  very  moment  when  he  is  about  to 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  163 

play  the  deceased  husband  in  my  lady's  chamber — 
the  mask  of  death  upon  his  face,  the  robes  of  the  grave 
about  his  limbs — tricked  out  to  the  full  in  all  his  ugly 
and  accursed  devices  ?  I  could  so  manage  the  ropes 
that  he  pulls,  that  he  should  draw  the  noose  about 
his  own  neck,  inextricably,  and  lose  all  power  of 
escape  wi'th  the  very  efforts  which  he  makes  to  do  so." 

"  Can  you  do  so  ?"  I  asked. 

"Easily.  I'can  work  such '  a  snare  as  shall  halter 
and  hold  him  suspended  in  his  secret  closet." 

"Do  it!"  I  answered  thoughtlessly:  "It  will  be 
poetical  justice,  if  not  common  law." 

But  Frederick  shook  his  head. 

"He  would  deserve  it,  truly;  and  it  would  be  only 
an  appropriate  form  of  justice  ;  but,  as  I  think  of 
Marie,  I  dare  not.  The  horror  of  such  a  sight,  and 
such  a  thought,  even  if  she  did  not  behold  the  sight, 
would  never  depart  from  her  imagination.  It  would 
be  a  deadly  spectre  forever  before  her  eyes.  My 
passions — could  I  think  of  myself  only — would,  I  feel, 
prompt  me  to  something  of  the  kind.  But,  remember- 
ing her,  I  must  content  myself  with  detecting  and  ex- 
posing the  wretch ! — Nay,  I  dare  not  even  expose  him 
— except  to  herself,  and  possibly  to  one  other  besides 
yourself." 

"Indeed!     And  why  not?" 

"  For  the  best  reasons.  If  my  suspicions  are  right- 
ly entertained,  the  ghost  is  no  other  than  Father  Paul 
Roquetti,  Marie's  confessor !" 

"Is  it  possible!" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it !     I  felt  sure  of  it  from  the  first. 


164  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

I  knew  that  he  was  my  enemy  on  the  first  occasion 
when  we  met ;  and  the  proofs  have  been  accumulating 
ever  since.  Marie  is  a  devout  Catholic  ;  will  be  slow 
to  believe  even  in  the  errors  of  some  of  its  priesthood  ; 
and  will  dread  lest  the  world  should  confound  him 
with  his  church ;  an  error  of  judgment  of  which  the 
world  is  too  commonly  guilty.  I  must  guard  against 
giving  her  pain,  and  my  discovery,  though  rendered 
perfectly  conclusive  in  her  eyes,  must  yet  forbear  ex- 
posing the  oifender  to  any  unnecessary  shame." 

"  But  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  scoundrel 
shall  escape  entirely  ?" 

"  Far  from  it.  But  I  do  not  mean  to  punish  him 
myself,  or  to  make  him  suffer  the  penalties  of  the  law. 
The  secular  arm  shall  not  touch  his  head,  if  the  eccle- 
siastical authority  will  take  up  the  matter  honest- 
ly. That  the  Catholic  Church  here  is  quite  prepared 
to  do  so,  I  am  satisfied.  The  venerable  head  of  it, 
in  this  place,  is  too  wise  and  too  good  a  man  to  suffer 
the  offender  to  escape  through  any  idle  fear  that  his 
sins  will  be  visited  upon  the  church  to  which  he 
belongs.  Priests  are  but  men.  They  err,  like  all  of 
us.  They  have  the  same  passions  and  infirmities — 
they  are  even  more  exposed  to  temptation.  Heaven 
knows  what  a  host  of  priestly  offenders  are  every  day 
published  in  our  newspapers,  from  all  the  Protestant 
churches  in  the  country.  But  who  thinks  of  charg- 
ing the  faith  with  the  faults  of  the  priesthood?" 

"And  what  now?"  said  I,  seeing  Frederick  moving 
to  the  secret  passage. 

"I  will  not  snare  him  by  the  neck,  Yfilliam,  but  I 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  165 

will  so  contrive  my  snares  as  to  leave  him  without 
escape.  But  I  can  do  no  more  to-night.  It  nears 
the  small  hours.  I  will  but  put  things  as  I  found 
them,  and  pick  up  and  remove  my  own  traps.  After 
that,  we  will  depart.  We  shall  lodge  together." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

WE  reached  our  lodgings,  carrying  our  bag  and 
box,  without  meeting  anybody.  We  swallowed  a 
bowl  of  coffee  each,  on  our  return,  and  Frederick  soon 
after  tumbled  into  bed.  Spite  of  the  coffee,  which  had 
been  made  strong,  he  was  instantly  asleep,  and  slept 
like  a  top.  I  remained  awake  for  two  goodly  hours, 
soliciting  the  friendly  sleep  in  vain.  But  Frederick 
was  awake  with  the  dawn,  and  off.  What  he  did  that 
day  I  know  not ;  but  he  was  busy.  At  night  he 
came  again ;  and  again,  that  night,  we  penetrated  the 
dwelling  of  Marie,  and  the  secret  entrance.  There, 
and  about  the  house,  we  worked  with  continued  in- 
dustry for  several  goodly  hours,  making  as  little  stir 
as  possible,  and  studiously  avoiding  noise  and  loud  talk- 
ing. If  we  had  occasion  to  use  a  hammer  or  to  drive 
a  nail,  we  covered  hammer,  nail,  and  board  with  wool- 
len or  cotton  waddings.  I  need  not  now  tell  you  what 
was  done.  Enough  that  we  put  certain  wires  in  mo- 
tion, by  which  to  secure  the  ghost,  though  not  to  in 


166  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

jure  him.  We  also  contrived  secret  places  of  hiding 
for  other  parties,  should  these  become  necessary  to 
our  purposes.  All  these  proceedings  were  not  effect- 
ed, however,  in  a  single  night.  It  took  us  several, 
before  we  had  finished  our  work ;  and  much  of  the 
work — all,  in  fact,  that  could  be  accomplished  abroad, 
was  done  elsewhere  during  the  day.  Frederick  worked 
like  a  hero ;  as  none,  indeed,  but  a  hero  or  a  genius 
can  work.  His  whole  soul  was  in  his  performance, 
and  this  is  the  one  secret  only  which  makes  perform- 
ance successful.  His  cheerfulness  amounted  to  en- 
thusiasm ;  so  that,  when  most  intensely  at  work,  his 
spirits  seemed  most  happily  at  play,  his  fancy  luxuriat- 
ing in  the  most  grateful  wantonness,  and  his  moods 
never  once  putting  on  the  aspect  of  a  care.  And  in 
this  temper  lies  the  secret  of  the  best  work  always. 
It  is  the  mule-nature  that  goes  doggedly  to  its  tasks. 
Such  a  nature  may  suffice  for  turning  a  mill,  but  not 
for  glorious  or  great  achievement. 

All  his  preparations  completed  for  the  proper  re- 
ception of  the  ghost,  the  next  step  of  Frederick 
Brandon  was  to  recall  Marie  de  Berniere  from  her 
plantation  to  her  town  residence;  and  then  to  compel 
the  spectre  to  reappear.  To  effect  these  objects,  he  pre- 
pared to  dispatch  his  sister,  Madame  de  Chateauneuve, 
on  a  visit  to  his  betrothed.  But  watched  as  was  the 
latter,  it  was  necessary  that  certain  precautions  should 
be  taken,  even  for  this  object,  by  which  to  avoid  all 
suspicion  of  what  was  in  hand ;  and,  in  fact,  to  direct 
the  doubts  of  the  enemy  to  a  wholly  different  quarter. 
Accordingly,  Frederick  set  to  work  to  compose  a  letter 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  167 

to  Marie,  which  I  was  permitted  to  read  as  he  wrote. 
It  ran  thus  : — 

"  How  I  rejoice,  dearest  Marie,  that  the  advice  of 
my  sister  has  been  productive  of  such  beneficial  effects 
— that  your  health  improves,  and  that  your  mind  is 
again  recovering  its  freedom  from  the  painful  effects 
of  its  strange  unhappy  hallucinations.  I  was  well 
assured,  from  the  first,  that  a  disordered  imagina- 
tion, and  a  highly  excited  state  of  your  nervous 
system,  were  the  true  secrets  of  your  suffering,  and 
that  the  vulgar  trick  of  some  artful  and  malicious 
rival,  co-operating  with  the  diseased  state  of  your 
mind,  has  been  the  real  secret  of  the  unnatural  events 
which  have  disturbed  you.  You  perceive,  as  I  told 
you,  the  pure  air  of  the  country  has  been  in  the  last 
degree  beneficial.  You  have  had  no  dreadful  visions. 
Your  imagination  has  conjured  up  no  terrible  phan- 
toms. Henceforth,  I  doubt  not  that  you  will  be  en- 
tirely free  from  annoyance.  The  privilege  which  your 
love  so  generously  gives  me,  of  protecting  you  for  the 
future,  with  the  sacred  rights  of  a  husband,  while  it 
makes  my  happiness  complete,  will  make  your  peace 
secure.  And  shall  we  not  both  of  us,  dear  Marie,  be 
eminently  happy  ?  Need  I  repeat  to  you  the  assur- 
ance that  I  shall  live  mostly  for  this  object  ?  Need  I 
repeat  the  asseverations  of  a  love  which  you  should 
by  this  time  sufficiently  understand,  and  your  faith  in 
which  prompts  you  now  so  graciously  to  consent  to  my 
prayers  and  desire  ?  You  have  made  me  happy  by 
this  consent.  Oh  !  dearest  Marie,  return  soon  to  the 
city,  that  our  marriage  may  no  longer  be  delayed. 


168  MARIE  DE  BEKNIERE; 

My  sister,  who  has  just  brought  me  your  precious  billet, 
will  bring  you  this.  Let  me  entreat  you,  if  your 
health  and  composure  be  sufficiently  restored,  to  take 
advantage  of  her  companionship,  and  return  with  her." 

Such  was  the  tenor  of  the  letter.  I  have  only 
given  such  portions  of  it  as  were  written  with  an 
object  other  than  that  simply  of  addressing  the  affec- 
tions and  sensibilities  of  his  betrothed.  He  designed 
much  of  the  preceding  for  other  eyes  than  those  of 
Marie,  and  Madame  de  Chateauneuve  had  her  instruc- 
tions, which  were  to  be  conveyed  to  the  former,  so  to 
dispose  of  the  letter  as  that  it  should  be  quite  accessi- 
ble to  all  or  any  of  the  servants.  She  was  also  to  be 
counselled  to  let  several  days  elapse,  after  receiving  it, 
before  she  offered  to  act  on  its  chief  suggestion  by 
returning  to  the  city. 

"  We  must  allow  the  enemy  sufficient  time.  You 
will  perceive,  William,  that  much  depends  upon  our 
being  able  to  compel  the  ghost  to  reappear.  We  must 
fully  convict  him." 

I  thought  he  elaborated  too  much.     I  said  so. 

"  You  surely  have  sufficient  evidence  for  this  pur- 
pose already — the  secret  door  and  passage — the  mask 
and  death — the  disguise  of  the  Egyptian — " 

"  This  is  the  too  common  error.  People  are  too 
apt  to  fire  the  train  before  they  are  quite  sure  that 
the  enemy  is  decidedly  over  the  mine.  Most  failures 
come  from  precipitance,  and  the  feeble  eagerness  of 
the  parties.  In  all  cases,  particularly  of  this  sort,  the 
proper  rule  is  l  to  :nak'  sicker' — to  guard  against 
every  possibility  of  failure — to  leave  no  contingency 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  169 

unprovided  for — to  leave  to  the  enemy  no  aperture 
for  evasion.  It  is  scarcely  possible  so  to  secure  any 
game,  where  you  contend  against  great  ingenuity, 
working  in  secret.  That  we  have  so  far  succeeded,  is 
due  entirely  to  the  fact  that  we  have  worked  in  secret ; 
and  that  our  first  move  was  utterly  to  disarm  the  sus- 
picion that  we  worked  at  all.  In  dealing  with  an 
imagination  so  vivid  as  that  of  Marie's,  a  nervous  sys- 
tem so  susceptible,  a  spiritual  mood  whose  native 
tendency,  earnest  and  enthusiastic,  is  to  religion,  we 
are  particularly  required  to  meet  every  point  of  eva- 
sion which  an  ingenious  and  subtle  fancy  might,  by 
possibility,  suggest.  Superstition,  once  in  full  posses- 
sion of  the  imagination,  utterly  possesses  the  under- 
standing, and  precludes  reason  from  entering  at  all ; 
and  it  is  surprising,  when  thus  possessed,  how  ingeni- 
ous it  becomes  in  keeping  itself  in  possession.  Do 
you  not  see  that,  if  I  use  only  the  proofs  which  we 
now  have,  we  prove  nothing  really  against  the  crimi- 
nal :  we  show  that  she  has  been  deceived  and  deluded, 
but  do  not  show  by  whom  ;  and  nothing  has  been  done 
to  drive  this  secret  and  powerful  enemy  from  her 
councils,  where  he  has  indirectly  ruled  for  possibly 
fifteen  years — ever  since  her  childhood  ?  Besides, 
my  dear  fellow,  what  should  prevent  the  ingenious 
superstition,  and  even  the  ingenious  affection  of  Marie, 
from  saying :  '  Ah !  Frederick  loves  me,  and  would 
wish  to  cure  me  of  my  fears,  to  cure  me  for  himself. 
He  has  provided  this  death-mask — he  has  placed  this 
costume  of  the  Egyptian  here — he — '  Who  will 
prove  that  we  did  not  put  them  there?" 
15 


170 

"  But  she  cannot,  by  any  conjecture,  charge  you 
with  the  creation  of  this  secret  passage!" 

"  No!  But  she  may  possibly  reason  thus  in  respect 
to  this  secret  passage,  still  under  the  bias  of  a  super- 
stition which  is  in  full  possession,  and  tenacious  of  its 
hold  :  '  Old  houses,  Frederick  himself  has  told  me, 
are  not  unfrequently  thus  provided  with  secret  pas- 
sages. He  has  suspected  the  presence  of  one  in  my 
house,  which  is  one  of  the  oldest  of  the  old  city;  one 
of  the  most  massive,  and  particularly  susceptible  of 
use  in  this  manner.  His  conjecture  has  been  verified 
by  his  search.  But  what  then?  This  proves  nothing 
against  the  spectre,  unless  you  can  show  that,  because 
a  ghost  is  independent  of  such  aids,  he  will  scorn  to 
appear  in  a  dwelling  which  offers  him  such  unnecessary 
facilities.'  No  doubt  all  this  sort  of  reasoning  is  false; 
but  it  is  natural  in  all  such  cases.  If  the  heart  of 
man  is  desperately  wicked,  the  head  is  quite  as  de- 
sperately ingenious ;  and  it  is  by  sophistications  wholly 
that  superstitions  can  work  upon  cultivated  minds. 
With  the  ignorant  the  case  is  otherwise.  The  instincts 
serve,  and  no  argument  is  needed  to  prevail  over  the 
understanding ;  but  with  the  intellectual  and  accom- 
plished, subtleties,  engendered  by  the  mind — by  edu- 
cation itself — take  the  place  of  common  sense  ;  and  a 
false  philosophy  will  clothe  itself  in  the  garments  of 
an  angel  of  light — a  Gabriel  in  golden  armor,  seem- 
ingly impenetrable  to  any  thrust  from  the  Ithuriel 
spear  skepticism.  I  have  thought  of  all  that  is  need- 
ful, I  assure  you,  to  make  my  case  conclusive,  and 
perfectly  to  reach  the  convictions  of  Marie;  I  must 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  171 

take  physical  hold  upon  the  ghost — I  must  shake  the 
supernatural  out  of  him — must  take  him,  as  Dunstan 
took  the  devil,  fairly  by  the  proboscis,  and  so  tweak 
it  as  to  make  him  roar  like  any  ordinary  mortal ! 
And  I  will  do  it,  be  sure,  with  sufficient  unction,  as 
soon  as  I  have  a  chance  !" 

"Well,  if  you  will  suffer  me,  I  shall  be  pleased  to 
be  present  at  the  operation.  This  taking  a  ghost  by 
the  nose,  will  be  something  of  a  novelty  in  our  country. 
But  when  did  you  get  the  letter  from  Madame  de 
Berniere,  to  which  yours  is  the  answer  ?" 

"I  have  received  no  such  letter.  I  expressly  cau- 
tioned Marie  not  to  write.  Nor  is  my  letter  so  much 
meant  for  her  perusal,  as  for  that  of  the  ghost.  That 
I  have  assumed  so  much,  in  writing  as  I  have  written, 
will  be  forgiven  by  Marie  in  consideration  of  the  circum- 
stances. On  this  head,  I  think  she  properly  under- 
stands me  ;  I  have  taken  particular  pains,  in  our  con- 
versations before  she  went,  that  she  should  do  so.  Of 
course,  it  is  understood  that  her  tacit  acquiescence  in 
what  I  have  written  binds  her  to  nothing.  It  is  un- 
derstood that  my  proceeding  is  one  designed  for  her 
extrication,  for  her  freedom  only  from  the  ghost,  and 
not  her  bondage  to  myself.  It  will  be  quite  time  to 
discuss  the  latter  subject,  when  we  have  settled  the 
former.  But  I  have  no  fears  of  the  result  if  I  once 
succeed  in  my  discoveries,  and  succeed  in  satisfying 
her.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  process  of  tweaking 
the  nose  of  the  ghost  will  be  conclusive  in  respect  to 
my  claims  to  the  hand  of  Marie." 


172  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  WEEK  had  fully  elapsed  after  this  conversation, 
when  one  evening  Frederick  Brandon  said  to  me : — 

"My  sister  returned  this  morning  to  the  city. 
Marie  comes  back  to-morrow.  And  now,  what  say 
you  to  taking  lodgings  to-night  with  me  at  her  house?" 

"Agreed — to  be  sure." 

"But  let  me  warn  you.  Once  there,  we  must  stay 
there  until  the  affair  is  over.  We  shall  certainly  have 
to  remain  there  for  this  and  the  ensuing  night.  It 
may  be  longer.  I  cannot  now  venture  the  loss  of  a 
single  hour.  I  must  be  in  waiting  and  on  the  watch. 
I  have  contrived  a  hiding-place  for  both  of  us,  where 
we  shall  escape  notice,  and  from  whence  we  may 
emerge  at  any  moment.  I  have  also  laid  in  ample 
supplies  of  meat  and  drink,  so  that  we  shall  not  suffer. 
I  have  pass  keys  for  every  apartment.  I  can  feel  my 
way  along  every  avenue.  My  sister  will  give  to  Marie 
all  the  necessary  instructions.  She  has,  as  you  are 
aware,  only  to  pull  a  button  which  links  unsuspiciously 
at  the  head  of  her  bed,  close  against  the  wall,  to 
give  the  alarm,  in  a  moment,  if  she  hears  or  sees  the 
ghost.  We  shall  have  some  wires  to  pull,  the  moment 
after.  All  this  you  know." 

Under  the  cover  of  the  night,  loaded  with  provisions 
for  several  days,  we  made  our  way  without  interrup- 
tion to  the  haunted  dwelling.  Our  dark  lantern  was 
not  forgotten,  nor  extra  supplies  of  fuel.  We  found 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  173 

our  way  to  an  ancient  lumber  closet,  beneath  the  stairs, 
on  the  second  story,  which  gave  us  a  large  recess, 
blocked  in  by  old  trunks,  bandboxes,  and  furniture 
— a  child's  cradle,  apparently  of  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  black  with  age,  and  of  the  most  antique 
fashion,  being  the  prominent  object.  It  had  rocked 
the  infant  form  of  that  very  Colonel  de  Berniere 
whose  sleepless  spirit  we  had  come  to  lay.  Here  we 
lay,  rather  snugly — somewhat  fettered  in  our  move- 
ments, but  not  uncomfortably  so — and  with  the  privi- 
lege of  stealing  out,  whither  we  pleased,  as  soon  as 
everybody  was  asleep.  We  adjusted  our  den  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  afford  us  equal  ease  and  security.  The 
place  was  one  evidently  which  persons  did  not  often 
appear  to  penetrate.  Before  taking  possession  of  it, 
we  went  the  rounds  of  the  establishment — reviewed  all 
the  secret  places — all  the  avenues — saw  that  every- 
thing wore  its  old  aspect — tried  -all  the  keys  to  the 
secret  doors,  and  felt  that  we  could  find  egress  and 
ingress  when  and  where  we  pleased — and  saw  heed- 
fully  to  the  operation  of  the  wire  which  we  had  con- 
ducted to  the  bedhead  of  the  haunted  lady.  This 
done,  we  returned  to  our  den  among  the  bandboxes, 
opened  wide  the  door  of  our  lantern,  so  as  to  throw 
its  light  wholly  upon  the  recess,  clapped  it  on  top  of 
an  old  trunk  looking  inwards,  and  then  proceeded  to 
look  to  the  contents  of  the  two  provision  baskets  which 
we  had  brought.  These  we  stowed  away  in  the  cradle 
of  the  ghost,  i.  e.,  when  he  was  a  mere  mortal  infant. 
His  spectre  did  not  affect  our  appetite.  We  had  a 
good  supply  of  red  wines,  which  we  used  freely  as  a 
15* 


174  MARIE  DE  BEHNIERE; 

substitute  for  tea  and  coffee,  and  with  a  couple  of 
cloaks  and  blankets  we  made  out  to  sleep  lovingly  to- 
gether, with  but  little  space  for  much  changing  of 
position  through  the  night. 

We  woke  some  time  after  daylight,  but  it  was  still 
dark  to  us,  except  for  the  lamp-light,  where  we  were. 
The  lamp  we  had  to  keep  burning,  and  occasionally  to 
replenish.  To  strike  a  light,  in  the  old  times,  when 
friction-matches  were  not,  might  have  endangered  our 
secret.  A  little  after  we  had  awakened,  Frederick 
ventured  out,  but  soon  returned. 

"They  can't  arrive,"  said  he,  "before  mid-day, 
and  the  servants  and  carriage  will  come  first.  Marie 
will  drive  with  my  sister,  and  will  bring  her  round  in 
the  evening,  and  take  tea  with  her.  We  may  be  at 
ease  till  meridian.  And  now  for  our  breakfast." 

We  ate,  and  wralked  about  for  awhile,  but  towards 
11  o'clock  A.  M.,  thought  it  prudent,  like  sagacious 
rats,  to  take  to  our  hole.  We  did  so,  and  lay  perdu. 
It  was  mid-day — fully  one  o'clock — when  we  heard  a 
bustle  below,  and  the  loud  voice  of  Andres,  and  the 
pert  voice  of  the  chamber-maid.  The  back  door  was 
then  thrown  open,  and  the  cook  went  out  to  the 
kitchen,  but  soon  returned.  A  long  confabulation 
followed  between  the  parties,  the  Betty  of  my  lady 
concluding  at  last  by  a  loud  outcry  for  something  to 
eat,  declaring  herself  fairly  famished,  and  utterly 
miserable  from  the  vile  country  fare  to  which  for  the 
last  two  weeks  she  had  been  so  cruelly  and  unneces- 
sarily subjected.  Meanwhile,  Andres  seemed  to  have 
absented  himself.  It  was  fully  an  hour  before  we 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  175 

heard  his  voice  again,  and  he  came  in  just  in  time  to 
join  in  taking  dinner  with  the  chamber-maid.  Of  this 
event  we  guessed  the  particulars  from  an  occasional 
clashing  of  plates,  and  the  smacking  of  a  cork,  which 
might  have  been  porter,  or,  more  probably,  champagne. 
Good  tastes  may  be  acquired  in  the  cellar  quite  as 
soon  as  in  the  parlor,  and  education,  in  a  servant's 
hall,  may  sometimes  cast  discredit,  in  more  ways  than 
one,  on  the  progress  of  civilization  up  stairs. 

But  feeding,  like  other  good  things,  must  have  an 
end  some  time  or  other.  The  bustle  below  stairs 
ceased,  and  very  soon  we  heard  my  lady's  maid  in 
my  lady's  chamber.  There  she  bustled  about  for  a 
goodly  hour,  her  tongue  earnestly  engaged  all  the  while 
in  seeming  soliloquy,  though  that  of  Andres  might  be 
heard  as  a  sort  of  thorough-bass,  giving  force  and 
dignity  to  her  affetuoso.  At  intervals  we  could  hear 
the  movements  of  both  the  parties,  with  the  drawing 
of  tables,  the  rattling  of  chairs,  and  the  evident 
scraping  of  the  broom  over  walls  and  carpets.  Our 
ears,  in  the  almost  total  suspension  of  the  exercise  of 
our  other  senses,  became  singularly  acute  in  our  place 
of  hiding.  Here  we  remained  undisturbed,  almost 
unapproached.  It  was  quite  sunset  by  our  watches 
when  Marie  de  Berniere  came  home,  accompanied  by 
Madame  de  Chateauneuve.  They  went  at  once  to  the 
chamber  of  the  former,  where  tea  was  served  them. 
We  could  hear  from  our  den  the  subdued  murmur  of 
their  voices  for  a  couple  of  hours  more.  But  Madame 
de  Chateauneuve  at  length  took  her  departure.  An 
hour  elapsed  and  the  house  remained  perfectly  quiet. 


176 

Then  the  tongue  of  my  lady's  Betty  was  heard  once 
more  in  the  chamber.  She  was  evidently  assisting 
her  mistress  in  disembarrassing  her  for  the  night. 
This  duty  seemed  to  be  at  length  finished.  The 
chamber  door  was  heard  to  close.  We  heard  it  locked 
carefully  within  ;  and  then  the  footsteps  of  the  maid, 
ascending  the  stairs  over  our  heads,  on  her  way  to 
her  own  sleeping-room  in  the  third  story.  When  this 
sound  had  fairly  ceased,  we  were  conscious  of  a  noise 
— slight  indeed,  but  to  our  keen  senses  sufficiently 
obvious — again  at  the  door  of  Marie's  chamber. 

"She  is  withdrawing  the  key  from  the  lock,"  said 
Frederick,  "  as  I  counselled  her  through  my  sister." 

Frederick  now  carefully  trimmed  the  lamp,  shutting 
the  door  of  it  as  soon  as  it  was  done.  In  the  brief 
moments,  when  the  light  was  cast  upon  his  counte- 
nance, I  saw  that  his  face  was  very  pale,  but  all  the 
muscles  were  rigid,  and  the  mouth  was  silently  and 
firmly  compressed.  We  had  still,  in  all  probability, 
some  two  hours  to  wait. 

"  Be  patient,"  said  my  friend  ;  "according  to  rule, 
ghosts  have  no  right  to  revisit  the  glimpses  of  the 
moon  till  12  o'clock.  Midnight  is  the  dawning  for  the 
spiritual  world.  What  a  reflection.  They  find  life 
and  light  only  when  our  mortal  world  is  dark,  and  in 
a  slumber  that  mocks  the  external  attributes  of  death. 
Well,  we  shall  see  !  We  shall  hear !  It  is  something 
to  reconcile  us  to  such  a  tedious  watch,  that  we  may 
fairly  grapple  with  a  ghost." 

"  Should  your  conjectures  and  suspicions,  after  all, 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  177 

prove  unfounded — should  there  be  a  real  ghost,  Fred- 
erick !" 

Darkness  is  wonderfully  favorable  to  the  marvellous. 
Credulity  grows  in  just  degree  with  our  ignorance  and 
incapacity.  I  should  probably  during  the  day,  have 
never  entertained  or  uttered  such  a  suggestion. 

"  Can  you  suppose  it  possible,  after  our  discoveries  ?" 
queried  my  friend.  "  Nay,  it  is  possible,  for  I  am  not 
prepared  to  deny  the  possibility,  or  even  the  occurrence 
of  the  supernatural  and  spectral ;  but  it  surely  is  not 
a  probability  in  the  present  case.  At  all  events,  it 
will  not  be  very  long  before  we  are  enabled  to  resolve 
doubts.  Let  but  Marie  be  firm  enough  to  do  as  she 
has  been  counselled,  and  only  pull  the  wire,  the  button 
of  which  is  behind  her  bolster,  and  we  secure  the 
visitor,  shadowy  or  real.  We  shall  be  seasonably 
warned  by  our  little  metallic  monitor." 

He  pointed  to  a  little  copper  ball  which  hung 
beneath  the  stairs  just  above  our  heads.  This,  by  the 
way,  was  connected  by  a  wire  with  the  button  so  con- 
veniently placed  by  the  couch  of  Madame  de  Berniere. 
The  same  button  was  connected  by  another  wire,  which 
we  had  conducted  into  the  secret  crypt  through  which 
the  ghost  was  expected  to  enter  the  chamber.  While 
the  first  wire,  acting  upon  the  bell,  warned  us  of  his 
entrance,  the  opposite  wire  was  contrived  in  such  a 
manner  as  effectually  to  prevent  the  wrorking  of  the 
spring  by  which  the  ghost  let  himself  out  again — 
effectually  barring  his  egress  from  the  apartment. 
We  had  tried  our  machinery  thoroughly,  so  as  to 


178  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

assure  ourselves  of  its  proper  and  prompt  working  at 
the  moment  of  alarm. 

I  was  silent  after  this,  and  stretched  myself  out  as 
well  as  I  could,  leaning  my  back  and  head  against  the 
partition.  Frederick  felt  the  movement. 

"If  you  are  drowsy,"  said  he,  ;i indulge  yourself. 
You  will  probably  have  time  enough.  The  bell  will 
waken  you,  and  I  can,  at  a  moment,  should  it  fail  to 
do  so." 

But  I  disclaimed  the  desire,  of  which  I  was  really 
mentally  unconscious,  and  roused  myself  up  for  awhile ; 
though  now  both  of  us  remained  silent.  -  But  nature 
had  been  a  little  too  much  overtaxed,  in  my  case,  as 
in  that  of  my  friend,  and  though  sympathizing  with 
him  fervently,  and  really  extremely  anxious  about  the 
result,  I  yielded  finally  to  that  arch-beguiler,  sleep, 
and  closed  eyes  and  senses  wholly  to  the  external 
world.  I  was  awakened  suddenly  by  Frederick's 
grasp  upon  my  shoulder,  and  by  the  subsiding  tinkle 
of  the  little  bell  within  my  ears.  My  faculties  were  all 
in  hand  in  a  moment.  Frederick  rose,  his  movements 
quite  measured  and  necessarily  deliberate.  We  both 
moved  with  caution,  he  leading  the  way,  surmounting 
boxes  and  cradle,  and  without  any  casualty,  we  ex- 
tricated ourselves,  and  emerged  from  the  closet.  I 
carried  the  lamp,  Frederick  the  keys,  and  we  pro- 
ceeded at  once,  along  the  passage  to  the  door  of  Marie's 
chamber.  We  heard  a  bustle  as  we  proceeded  ;  then 
came  the  sounds  of  Madame  de  Berniere's  raised  voice ; 
but  we  heard  no  voice  in  reply.  I  opened  the  lantern 
door ;  and  Frederick  applied  the  key  to  the  lock.  It 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  179 

opened  readily — we  pushed  in  without  pausing,  and, 
turning  the  key,  relocked  the  door.  We  were  fairly  in 
the  sacred  chamber  of  youth,  beauty,  and  innocence. 
The  voice  of  Marie  saluted  us,  something  between  a 
cry  and  a  speech.  What  she  said  then  I  know  not ; 
but  I  saw  her,  sitting  up  in  the  bed,  her  eyes  bright 
as  two  unsunned  jewels  of  the  mine,  and  her  hand 
extended  in  the  direction  of  the  chimney.  Then  I 
deciphered  her  words. 

"  Save  me,  my  friends.  He  is  here  !  My  enemy. 
He  who  pursues  me.  He  has  spoken  to  me — he  has 
dared  to  threaten.  He  is  here — there — he  spoke  to 
me  from  that  direction." 

She  pointed  towards  the  secret  door.  I  had  held 
the  light  towards  it ;  but  it  was  closed,  and  I  saw 
nothing.  Frederick,  however,  coolly  took  the  lantern 
from  my  hand ;  and,  going  to  the  toilet,  lighted  the  two 
waxen  candles  which  stood  upon  it.  The  room  was  at 
once  visible  in  every  quarter.  Still,  I  saw  nobody. 
Frederick's  face  was  fearfully  pale;  but  he  said 
nothing.  His  lips  were  rigidly  caught  by  his  teeth. 
I  readily  conjectured  all  his  emotions.  Everything 
depended  upon  this  discovery.  Should  he  have  failed  ! 
Should  there  be  no  detection — no  human  victim — all 
the  fancies,  and  the  superstitions  of  the  woman  whom  he 
so  much  loved,  would  be  confirmed,  fatally,  to  all  his 
hopes.  He  seized  one  of  the  candles  in  his  hand, 
raised  it  aloft,  saw  that  the  secret  door  was  fully  fas- 
tened, and  at  once  proceeded  to  the  chimney.  A  mo- 
ment after,  he  laughed  aloud,  somewhat  hysterically, 
and  the  next  moment,  thrusting  the  candle  into  my 


180 

hands,  he  stooped  into  the  fireplace  and  drew  down 
the  ghost,  by  a  pair  of  very  well-made  mortal  legs,  from 
the  recesses  of  the  chimney. 

"Come  out!"  he  said,  with  great  deliberation. 
"  You  can  hide  no  longer." 

The  spectre  was  reluctant.  The  vigorous  grasp  of 
Frederick  assisted  his  movements,  and  dragged  him 
from  his  hiding-place.  He  stood  upon  the  hearth, 
speechless,  immovable  ;  and  when  I  thrust  the  candle 
towards  his  face,  the  suspicions  of  my  friend  were  all 
confirmed.  There  stood  the  living  embodiment  of  the 
excellent  father,  Paul  Roquetti ! 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE  good  father,  this  time,  wore  no  death's  head ; 
but  he  carried  it  in  his  hand.  He  had  evidently  taken 
it  from  his  face  in  the  moment  of  alarm,  and  was  so 
paralyzed  by  detection,  that  he  had  forgotten  to  drop 
it.  He  was  a  woeful  picture,  not  only  of  idiotic  con- 
fusion, but  of  soot  and  ashes.  He  wore  motley  for 
the  nonce,  and  hardly  needed  a  mask  for  concealment. 
He  oifered  no  resistance,  as  drawing  a  stout  cord  from 
his  pocket,  Frederick  prepared  to  secure  his  arms  be- 
hind him.  But  here  Madame  de  Berniere  interposed — 
"  Frederick,  for  my  sake,  spare  him  this — " 
Frederick  paused  without  answering,  and  looking 
with  searching  eyes  into  the  face  of  the  culprit,  seemed 
to  ask  himself,  by  the  brief  examination,  whether  he 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  181 

ought  to,  or  could  safely  forbear  the  precaution  which 
he  had  meditated. 

"  He  is  an  Italian  !"  said  he  to  me,  in  an  under  tone, 
but  sufficiently  loud  for  the  Father  to  hear.  The  lat- 
ter raised  his  eyes  for  the  first  time,  but  they  sank 
almost  instantly  beneath  the  glance  of  my  friend,  as 
beneath  that  of  a  master. 

"  And  this,"  said  Frederick,  "  is  one  of  a  race  that 
boasted  such  names  as  Scipio  and  Cicero,  Cato  and 
Julius  Caesar.  How  characteristics  alter  in  a  few 
centuries.  Soul  yields  to  sense,  courage  to  subtlety, 
and  the  fearless  and  eager  nature  becomes  the  cold, 
the  secret,  the  timid  and  assassin-like.  And  yet  all 
these  traits  are  found  associated  with  genius  and  the 
rarest  capacity  for  design.  It  is  a  mystery.  We 
may  trust  him,  I  think" — looking  searchingly  into  the 
priest's  face — "  but  not  out  of  sight.  Hither." 

The  eye  of  Frederick  seemed  to  indicate  what  he 
wished  as  well  to  myself  as  to  Paul  Roquetti.  I 
opened  the  door  of  the  chamber,  and  he  followed  me 
out  like  a  submissive  spaniel.  Frederick  came  be- 
hind him,  bringing  one  of  the  candles.  The  other 
was  left  with  Madame  de  Berniere  in  her  chamber. 
She  now  rose  to  make  her  toilet,  Frederick  placed 
his  candle  on  the  front  window  of  the  passage  over- 
looking the  street.  He  touched  his  repeater.  It  was 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"We  shall  soon  have  visitors,"  said  he;  "the  light 
is  a  signal." 

By  this  time,  the  servant-maid  had  hurried  from 
16 


182  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

above  in  her  night-dress,  aroused  by  the  unavoidable 
bustle. 

"In — to  your  mistress,"  said  Frederick,  sternly. 
"  But  first,  go  into  that  room" — pointing  to  the  one 
opposite  Madame  de  Berniere's  chamber — "  and 
bring  us  out  some  chairs." 

There  was  no  questioning  that  eagle  glance,  those 
stern  simple  tones  with  which  he  commanded  her. 
She  obeyed  promptly,  without  a  word,  looking  awfully 
distressed  and  inquiringly  at  the  priest.  She  had 
scarcely  placed  the  chairs,  and  entered  the  chamber 
of  her  lady,  when  we  beheld  Andres,  .the  porter, 
making  his  way  up.  At  the  sight  of  him,  Paul  Ro- 
quetti  looked  towards  him  appealingly. 

"  Be  seated,  sir,"  said  Frederick,  in  tones  of  com- 
mand, rather  than  entreaty,  pointing  at  the  same 
time  to  one  of  the  chairs.  The  person  addressed 
obeyed  instinctively.  Meanwhile,  Andres  reached 
the  top  of  the  steps,  on  the  same  platform  with  our- 
selves. The  fellow's  face  was  dark  with  a  savage 
expression,  and  his  eye  scowled  fiercely. 

"Down,  sir,"  said  Frederick,  "  and  be  in  readiness 
to  answer  the  door." 

"  I  want  to  see  my  mistress,"  said  the  fellow,  inso- 
lently, and  continuing  to  advance. 

"  You  do  as  I  bid  you — not  a  step  further,  I  say." 

"  I  must  see  my  mistress."     He  pressed  forward. 

"See  to  the  priest,"  said  Frederick,  and  with  the 
words,  with  but  a  bound,  he  sprang  upon  the  mulatto, 
grasped  him  by  the  throat,  wheeled  him  about,  and 
plunged  him  headlong  down  the  steps,  just  as  the 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  183 

scoundrel  was  drawing  a  knife  from  his  bosom.  The 
act  was  so  decisive,  the  power  with  which  it  was  exe- 
cuted so  prodigious,  that  it  seemed  to  operate  upon 
the  priest  and  negro  like  a  sudden  thunderbolt  falling 
at  their  feet.  Andres,  prostrate  for  a  moment  on  the 
first  landing  or  platform  of  the  stair-flight,  bruised, 
half  stunned,  and  rising  slowly,  was  evidently  cowed 
into  submission.  But  he  glared  up  at  us,  with  one 
malignant  flash  of  his  dark  and  savage  eyes,  before 
he  picked  himself  up,  and  continued,  more  deliber- 
ately, his  downward  progress. 

"Bad  blood,  both.  The  mixture  of  the  Spanish 
blood  with  that  of  the  African  produces  always  a 
malignant  cross.  We  must  keep  a  sharp  eye  on 
both." 

At  this  moment  the  house-bell  rung  below,  and  the 
mulatto  porter,  obeying  habit  rather  than  will,  was 
heard  to  open  the  outer  door. 

"It  is  my  sister  and  Monsieur  de  Chateauneuve," 
said  Frederick.  "  That  candle  has  told  them  all." 

The  next  moment  we  heard  their  voices,  and  they 
were  soon  on  their  way  up  stairs.  Marie  de  Berniere 
emerged  from  her  chamber  at  the  same  instant,  and 
the  parties  met  in  the  passage.  Again  Andres  made 
his  appearance  coming  up,  but  the  vigilant  eye  of 
Frederick  beheld  him,  and  ordered  him  down  again. 
The  fellow  did  not  venture  to  dispute  the  order  ;  the 
taste  which  he  had  enjoyed  of  my  friend's  summary 
mode  of  enforcing  obedience,  was  of  excellent  effect. 

Of  course,  all  was  curiosity  and  inquiry — congratu- 
lations and  exclamations.  The  impostor  ghost  sat 


184  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

motionless  with  shame,  in  silence,  a  spectacle  of  loath- 
ing and  reproach.  Monsieur  ,de  Chateauneuve  ad- 
dressed him — 

"  So,  so  !  good  father,  this  is  a  beautiful  game  you 
have  been  playing.  Ah,  well !  what  have  you  to  say 
for  yourself?" 

He  was  silent.  Marie  de  Berniere  then  spoke,  and 
her  words  betrayed  the  conflict  between  her  indigna- 
tion and  sorrow. 

"  How,  Father  Paul,  have  I  deserved  this  treat- 
ment at  your  hands  ?  You  who  blessed  me  at  birth, 
upon  whose  words  I  hung  in  childhood,  .to  whom  I 
looked  as  to  a  father  ;  to  whom  I  listened — to  whom 
I  made  my  confession." 

The  guilty  man  looked  up,  and  his  eye  gleamed 
fiercely,  as  he  replied,  quickly — 

"  You  did  not  confess  !" 

Monsieur  de  Chateauneuve  promptly  put  in — 

"  And  for  a  good  reason.  She  had  an  instinct  that 
told  her  you  did  not  need  it.  No  one  need  tell  any- 
thing to  the  spy  who  steals  all  one's  secrets.  Satan ! 
You  would  be  a  ghost — I  have  a  mind  to  gratify  you 
on  the  spot.  If  I  only  had  a  rope !" 

We  need  not  report  all  that  was  said  on  the  occa- 
sion. Enough  now  that  we  give  the  substance  of  the 
events.  A  brief  conversation  aside,  between  Frede- 
rick and  Monsieur  de  Chateauneuve,  sent  the  latter 
off.  He  was  gone  about  an  hour.  Meanwhile,  the 
two  ladies  had  retired  to  the  chamber  of  Madame  de 
Berniere,  leaving  Father  Paul  in  the  keeping  of 
Frederick  and  myself.  The  fellow,  Andres,  made 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  185 

several  showings  of  himself  upon  the  stairs,  but  was 
invariably  arrested  by  the  eye  and  voice  of  my  friend, 
and  driven  back.  Frederick,  finally,  as  he  became 
chafed  at  the  pertinacity  of  the  mulatto,  pulled  a  pair 
of  pistols  from  his  coat,  and  sternly  assured  him  that 
if  he  appeared  again  before  he  was  summoned,  he 
should  be  rewarded  with  an  ounce  of  lead.  The  fel- 
low respected  the  warning.  Thus  we  remained  for 
more  than  an  hour,  when  at  dawn  a  carriage  drove 
up  to  the  door.  It  opened,  a  bustle  followed,  and  the 

venerable  Archbishop  D ,  of  the  Roman  Catholic 

Church — a  person  who  united  all  the  most  amiable  of 
social  traits,  with  all  that  was  pure  and  becoming  in 
his  station — who  was  equally  beloved  and  honored  by 
all  sects  and  classes — ascended  the  stairs  under  the 
guidance  of  Monsieur  de  Chateauneuve.  He  stood 
before  the  culprit,  his  face  filled  with  the  sternest 
sorrow. 

"  Paul,  you  are  guilty  !" 

The  person  addressed  hung  his  head  in  silence. 
The  Archbishop  then  spoke  to  Frederick,  whom  he 
had  met  before,  and  knew. 

"  Mr.  Brandon,  what  is  your  wish  and  purpose  'i 
This  man  is  a  double  offender — against  the  laws  of 
the  Church  and  those  of  the  land.  He  is  in  your 
hands.  I  have  not  a  word  to  say  in  his  behalf.  Let 
the  laws  of  the  land  pronounce  upon  his  offences. 
The  Church  will  pronounce  its  judgments  also." 

But  Frederick  said,  quickly — 

"  No,  sir  ;  he  is  in  your  hands.     For  this  purpose, 
it  was,  not  less  than  that  a  full  exposure  should  be 
16* 


186  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

made  to  you,  that  your  presence  was  requested. 
Madame  de  Berniere  would  prefer,  for  her  own  sake, 
and  that  of  the  Church,  which  his  connection  dis- 
honors, that  the  secular  arm  should  forbear  him.  So 
far  as  he  is  concerned,  I  have  done  my  duty.  If  I 
doubted  that  the  Church  would  do  its  duty  also,  then 
only,  would  I  deliver  him  to  the  justice  of  the  country. 
But  of  this  I  have  no  doubt.  Though  not  of  your 
faith,  reverend  sir,  I  am  too  well  satisfied  that  it  is 
neither  your  policy  nor  wish  to  screen  the  offender.  I 
resign  him  to  your  hands." 

"  Thanks,  sir ;  you  do  me  justice  only.  I  thank 
you  for  myself  and  for  the  Church,  which  has  not 
always  been  dealt  with  justly.  Paul  Roquetti,  remain 
here.  You  will  return  with  me." 

At  this  moment,  Madames  de  Berniere  and  Cha- 
teauneuve  both  emerged  from  the  chamber,  and  were 
affectionately  embraced  by  the  venerable  Archbishop. 
The  former  lady  requested  us  now  to  enter  the  room, 
while  Frederick  laid  bare  the  secret  avenues  within 
and  beneath  its  walls. 

"You  will  be  confounded,"  said  Frederick,  "at  the 
extent  of  these  ramifications,  and  the  wonderful 
power  for  harm  wrhich  this  man  exercised." 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  said  the  Archbishop,  "  that  such 
a  power  should  be  desirable  to  one  so  old.  But,  the 
love  of  power  is,  perhaps,  the  last  of  the  passions  to 
leave  us." 

"We  need  not  follow  the  party,  as  Frederick  unfold- 
ed the  secret  avenues,  and  showed  all  the  clues. 
,  "What  a  ghost  story  our  friend  has  spoiled  !"  said 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  187 

Monsieur  de  Chateauneuve,  tapping  his  snuffbox,  and 
handing  it  to  the  Archbishop.  When  we  -returned  to 
the  place  where  the  culprit  had  been  left,  he  was 
gone ! 

The  Archbishop  was  terribly  angry,  but  his  anger 
was  unavailing.  Andres  was  questioned,  but  he  knew 
nothing.  Frederick  smiled,  and  said  to  the  Arch- 
bishop— 

"  Do  you  know  one  Louise  Porterier,  living  in  the 
street ?" 

"Yes.     She  is  a  mulattress — " 

"  No — a  Cuban.  She  is  a  fruitier,  and  has  seven 
children.  She  is  the  wife  of  Paul  Roquetti." 

"  Wife  !  Saints  and  angels,  Mr.  Brandon  !  what 
is  it  you  tell  me  ?" 

"  Truth !  I  have  not  been  employing  myself  in 
vain  for  the  last  three  weeks.  I  have  fathomed  this 
man's  entire  history.  This  woman  is  his  wife,  though 
she  passes  as  a  widow  with  another  name.  She  is 
wealthy.  She  has  become  so  at  the  expense  of  your 
flock,  perhaps  your  church,  and  to  the  ruin  of  this 
wretched  man.  Remarkably  endowed  as  he  is  with 
talent — Italian  talent — a  rare  subtlety  and  some  elo- 
quence, he  is  literally  the  mere  creature  and  slave  of 
this  woman.  He  has  fled.  The  fellow,  Andres,  there, 
assisted  his  flight.  The  woman  will  follow  him  with 
all  her  children.  Look  to  see  the  house  vacant  in 
two  weeks." 

"  Pity,  knowing  these  things,  that  you  had  not  in- 
sisted upon  his  being  surrendered  to  the  civil  authori- 
ties. We  can — we  will — degrade  him  ;  make  him 


188  MARIE  DE  BERNIERE; 

perpetually  loathsome  and  odious  among  our  people  ; 
but  such  a  soul,  so  corrupt,  will  hardly  suffer,  as  he 
ought,  from  a  spiritual  sentence." 

"  Perhaps  not,  and  yet — " 

Frederick  looked  to  Marie.  She  smiled  to  him 
gratefully.  Base  criminal  as  Paul  Roquetti  had 
proved  himself,  at  last,  after  a  sixty  years'  reputation 
of  sanctity,  Marie  could  only  remember  him  as  the 
honored  Christian  teacher  of  her  infant  and  youthful 
nature. 

The  Archbishop  did  his  duty.  Father  Paul  Roquetti 
was  degraded — a  sentence  more  heavy  and  terrible, 
in  a  spiritual  sense,  than  that  of  excommunication 
even,  was  passed  upon  him.  He  was  blotted  from  the 
pages  of  the  Christian  church.  As  Frederick  had 
predicted,  Louise  Porterier  disappeared,  with  all  her 
family,  in  two  weeks  after.  No  traces  exist  of  any  of 
these  parties,  at  least  under  these  names.  What 
remains?  Three  days  after  the  eventful  discovery, 
which  concluded  the  claims  of  the  ghost,  Frederick 
had  an  interview  with  Marie  de  Berniere. 

"  Frederick,"  she  said,  "look  at  this.  If  you  are 
now  willing  to  marry  me,  I  am  yours." 

She  threw  off  the  cap  she  had  worn,  and  let  her 
long  hair  free.  It  fell  voluminous  and  soft  upon  her 
shoulders.  But  it  was  mottled  with  gray  ! 

"  See  the  agonies  of  one  little  month  in  this  writ- 
ing of  the  grave  1" 

This  was  all  she  said ;  he  opened  his  arms,  and  she 
buried  her  face,  sobbing  audibly,  in  his  bosom.  Need 
I  say  that  they  became  one.  With  tearful  eyes,  and 


A  TALE  OF  THE  CRESCENT  CITY.  189 

broken  accents,  the  excellent  Archbishop  himself 
united  them  in  the  most  precious  and  permanent 
bonds  of  life.  They  were  happy — lived  happily  as 
one ; — for  what  an  indulgent  manhood  was  his  ! — 
what  a  devoted  dependence,  subduing  all  affectations, 
formed  the  secret  and  the  spirit  in  the  love  of  her 
fearfully  tested  affections.  Friends  !  dear  friends  ! 
Is  it  possible  that  I  see  ye  no  more  around  that  happy 
board,  which  made  all  happy  ! 


THE   MAllOON; 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE   CARIBBEES. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  waters  of  the  Caribbean  Sea,  subject  to  some 
of  the  wildest  vicissitudes  that  ever  sweep  the  billows 
of  the  western  hemisphere,  were  never  more  placid 
and  lovely  to  the  eye  than  on  the  morning  of  the 
26th  of  August,  in  the  year  of  grace  one  thousand 
five  hundred  and  thirty-two.  The  exquisite  calm  of 
heaven — that  delicious  serenity  and  repose  of  atmo- 
sphere which  seem  never  so  lovely  or  so  perfect  as  in 
those  latitudes  where  the  capricious  winds  may,  at  any 
moment,  lash  themselves  and  the  ocean  into  immiti- 
gable fury,  and  where  nothing  is  long  secure  against 
their  violence — appeared  to  rest,  with  the  bosom  of 
the  halcyon,  upon  the  mighty  deeps  of  sea.  The  sky 
was  without  a  cloud — the  breeze,  soft  and  spicy  as  if 
borne  fresh,  on  the  very  instant,  from  the  aromatic 
islands  of  the  east,  was  gentle  without  languor,  and 
just  sufficed  to  waft  along,  under  easy  sail,  the  high- 
pooped  Spanish  bark  that  might  be  seen  to  form,  as 
it  were  a  natural  and  becoming  portion  of  the  vast 


THE  MAROON.  191 

and  beguiling  picture.  She  alone  stood  up,  careering 
over  the  watery  waste,  relieving  its  monotonous  revels, 
and  looming  out,  beyond  her  natural  size,  in  compari- 
son with  the  uniform  smoothness  of  the  waters.  A 
swift  and  well-built  vessel  of  the  time,  was  the  Diana 
de  Burgos,  named  after  a  favorite  beauty  of  old 
Spain.  She  had  taxed  all  the  genius  of  the  architect 
of  that  day  in  her  modelling,  to  do  honor  to  her  name- 
sake. And  he  had  succeeded — so  perfectly  succeeded, 
that  the  emulous  little  bark  had  already  acquired  a 
peculiar  reputation,  such  as  that  enjoyed  by  the  Balti- 
more clipper  of  modern  periods,  for  exquisite  grace  of 
air,  and  unparalleled  fleetness  of  foot.  She  was  the 
pride  of  the  waters,  and  cleft  them,  or  passed  over 
them,  as  if  endued  with  all  the  consciousness  of  the 
young  and  haughty  beauty  whose  name  had  not  been 
taken  by  her  in  vain.  Of  her  deeds,  of  her  peculiar 
employment,  in  the  western  hemisphere,  we  shall  say 
nothing.  At  that  wild  period,  we  know  very  well 
what  was  the  usual  history  in  the  New  World,  as  well 
upon  the  ocean  as  the  land.  "  No  peace  beyond  the 
line,"  was  the  common  proverb  of  license  among  the 
rovers  of  all  the  European  nations;  and  our  Diana 
de  Burgos  carried  within  her  graceful  girdle  all  the 
requisite  resources  for  deeds  of  strength  and  violence. 
Her  loveliness  of  model  did  not  conflict  with  her  ca- 
pacity for  fight;  and  a  single  glance  upon  the  swarthy 
groups  that  covered  her  deck,  would  satisfy  any  skep- 
tic, without  farther  search,  that  she  had  already  en- 
joyed no  inconsiderable  experience  in  the  trade  of 
war.  Could  her  polished  decks  have  spoken  out, 


192  THE  MAROON; 

what  revelations  of  blood  and  terror  might  they  not 
have  made !  But  her  past  history  is  nothing  to  us. 
It  is  enough  that  she  still  possesses  sufficient  materials 
of  interest  for  a  startling  and  a  touching  narrative. 
At  the  moment  when  we  ascend  her  sides — in  that 
calm  and  lovely  day — in  that  serene  and  delicious 
atmosphere — with  that  broad  deep  ocean,  as  smooth 
as  it  could  well  appear,  to  comport  with  the  necessary 
degree  of  animation  which,  to  form  a  picture,  such  a 
prospect  seems  to  require,  and,  at  the  same  time  to 
disarm  every  sense  of  danger  in  the  bosom  of  the 
most  apprehensive — we  shall  find  that  no  such  calm 
and  serenity  prevail  among  her  inmates.  We  dis- 
cover them  grouped  about  in  small  parties  along  her 
deck,  here  leaning  against  her  masts,  there  crouched 
among  bulk  and  cordage — variously  placed  in  differ- 
ent attitudes — a  hundred  sturdy  seamen  and  soldiers, 
speaking  little — an  occasional  word  or  sentence  only — 
but  all  looking  as  if  thoroughly  informed  and  anxious 
in  relation  to  some  matter  of  evidently  increasing  in- 
terest. The  broken  sentences  to  which  we  listen — 
the  half-uttered  inquiry,  the  faltering  suggestion  have 
no  meaning  for  our  ears,  though  clearly  of  ready  com- 
prehension by  all  around.  Happily,  a  stir  takes 
place  among  them ;  they  rise  to  their  feet — the  group 
separate ;  there  is  a  sudden  show  of  restraint,  as  from 
the  approach  of  authority.  A  word  has  gone  forth 
which  leads  to  expectation,  and  the  eagerness,  but 
partially  suppressed,  which  now,  in  every  visage,  fol- 
lows prompt  upon  its  former  simple  look  of  doubt  and 
anxiety,  may  well  encourage  us  to  hope  for  the  grati- 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        193 

fication  of  our  own  curiosity.     Patience,  the  door  of 
the  cabin  is  thrown  open  ! 

The  group  which  appears  within  is  one  to  add  some- 
what to  the  interest  of  expectation.  In  the  foreground 
appears  a  person  seated  in  a  chair,  one  of  those 
ancient  high-backed  fabrics  used,  about  that  period, 
in  all  European  countries  which  had  reached  any  de- 
gree of  civilization.  This  person  is  a  man  of  counte- 
nance more  striking  than  impressive.  He  is,  we  may 
be  permitted  to  say  at  once,  the  captain  of  the  Diana 
— Don  Velasquez  de  Tornel — a  personage,  short  and 
corpulent,  with  great  hands  and  limbs,  a  neck  thick 
and  short  like  that  of  a  bull,  and  of  a  face  plethoric 
and  fiery  red.  His  features  are  dark  and  fierce,  and 
marked  by  the  signs  of  an  angry  passion,  the  appear- 
ance of  which  he  seems  laboring  to  suppress.  His 
eyes  are  small,  intense,  and  catlike  of  expression, 
keen,  vigilant,  and  cunning.  His  nose  is  short  and 
sharp,  his  lips  thick,  and  marked,  at  moments,  by  a 
slight  quiver,  which  betrays  the  secret  emotion.  A 
thin,  but  grizzly  beard  overspreads  his  chin  and  cheeks. 
He  would  seem  to  be  a  person  about  fifty  years  of  age 
— a  man  of  strifes  and  violence,  of  quick  and  irritable 
temper,  and  of  restless,  unforgiving  moods.  His  feet 
are  wrapped  in  bandages  of  flannel,  and  suggest  the 
true  reason  why  he  remains  seated  at  a  time  when  his 
thoughts  and  passions  would  seem  disposed  to  goad 
him  into  the  most  eager  exercise.  Thus  seated,  he  is 
wheeled  out  upon  the  deck  by  his  attendants  ;  while, 
slowly  following  him,  appears  a  female,  whose  highly 
expressive  features  and  wildly  peculiar  beauty,  make 
17 


194  THE  MAROON; 

her  less  an  object  of  interest  than  study.  Her  per- 
son is  small,  but  highly  formed;  commanding,  from 
its  ease  of  carriage,  its  erectness,  the  bold  defiance  in 
her  eye,  and  the  imperious  curling  of  her  lip.  The 
style  of  her  beauty  is  not  of  the  noblest  order.  It 
possesses  but  little  of  the  spiritual,  but  is  of  a  kind 
more  likely  to  secure  admiration  during  an  age,  and 
in  a  region,  where  the  passions  learn  to  triumph  and 
command  in  the  absence  of  the  sentiments.  She 
takes  her  place  at  a  little  distance  in  front  of  the  spot 
occupied  by  Velasquez.  Her  arms  folded  across  her 
breast,  she  preserves  an  erect  posture,  while  her  eyes, 
neither  gazing  upon,  nor  averted  from  him,  seem  to 
be  filled  with  a  twofold  expression  of  wounded  pride 
and  lurking  anxiety.  His  glance  surveys  her  keenly 
and  unreservedly.  There  is  a  mixture  of  tenderness 
and  suspicion  in  his  gaze,  while  the  sinister  smile 
which  now  curls  his  lips,  gives  to  his  whole  counte- 
nance the  air  of  a  brooding  and  sleepless  malignity. 
This  silent  watch  is  so  prolonged  as  to  be  painful ; 
but  her  features  never  swerve  ;  nor  does  her  expres- 
sion alter.  She  looks  as  she  did  when  she  took  her 
first  position.  There  is  evidently  a  motive  for  this 
inflexibility,  which  she  maintains  without  faltering,  so 
long  as  his  eye  is  upon  her.  But  when  he  turns 
away  and  summons  the  pilot  to  his  side,  then  it  is 
seen  that  her  breast  heaves  as  if  to  throw  off  the  op- 
pressive burden  of  self-constraint — then  it  is  that  her 
cheek  pales  and  lip  quivers,  and  all  her  countenance 
betrays  a  fear  which  it  has  hitherto  been  its  business 
to  suppress. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        195 

But  a  few  words  are  spoken  by  the  captain  to  his 
pilot ;  a  question  is  asked — a  command  is  given ;  and 
while  the  latter  is  retiring,  he  is  reminded — to  "  see 
that  all  things  are  in  readiness,  and  to  keep  a  bright 
look-out."  The  pilot  withdrawn,  the  eyes  of  Velas- 
quez once  more,  but  slowly,  address  themselves  to  the 
lady.  But  she  has  recovered  from  the  momentary 
emotion  which  oppressed  her.  Her  features  are  once 
more  inflexible ;  her  look  is  steady ;  she  has  nerved 
herself  to  a  resolute  endurance  of  his  gaze  ;  and  the 
muscles  of  her  face,  like  the  strings  of  her  soul,  are 
•rendered  tenacious  by  a  will  which  his  would  vainly 
endeavor  to  overcome.  Failing  in  this  sort  of  exami- 
nation, he  addressed  her — seemingly  resuming  a  dia- 
logue which  the  previous  scene  had  interrupted. 

"  You  have  answered  clearly,  Maria  !  It  is  well 
for  us  both  that  you  did  so.  It  would  have  been  a 
grief  to  me  that  I  should  visit  your  head  with  my 
wrath,  even  though  it  should  be  shown — Madre  de 
Dios  ! — that  you  had  merited  it  by  such  a  crime  as 
this.  For,  did  I  not  pluck  you  from  the  accursed 
gypsy — have  I  not  made  you  a  lady,  and  bestowed 
my  love  upon  you  ?  It  were  a  crime  against  God,  if 
you  had  been  false  to  me  !" 

"  I  have  answered  you,  Don  Velasquez  !" 

"  So  you  have,  my  beauty — so  you  have  !  But  it 
is  not  enough  to  answer.  Must  one  look  angry  be- 
cause one  is  virtuous — eh  ?" 

"  But  to  be  wrongfully  accused — to  be  wrongfully 
threatened ! — " 

"  Oh !    oh !    one  gets  used  to  such   things,  if  all 


196  THE  MAROON; 

other  things  go  right.  Of  course,  I  know  that  you 
are  innocent.  But  how  did  I  know  it  then  ?  For 
you  will  admit,  my  life,  that  the  affair  looked  very 
suspicious.  There  was  I,  groaning  in  my  agony  with 
this  accursed  pain,  and  where  were  you  ?  Ah  !  well ! 
you  were  not  with  this  whelp  of  a  musician  ?  You 
did  not  sit  looking  up  into  his  face,  while  he  was 
stretching  his  throat  against  the  wind,  and  singing 
nonsense  to  his  silly  guitar  ?  You  did  not  prefer  lis- 
tening to  him  to  tending  on  me,  and,  of  course,  Juan 
must  have  been  mistaken  in  supposing  that  you  suf- 
fered him — that  you  were  willing  that  he  .should — ah  I 
never  mind  !  It  is  not  easy  to  speak  of  such  things 
without  choking — but  when  this  whelp  of  a  musician 
did  put  his  arms  about  you,  it  was  only  his  imperti- 
nence, and  you  properly  repulsed  him — " 

"  Has  not  Antonio  already  assured  you  of  this  ?" 
demanded  the  lady,  coldly. 

"  True— true  !— -" 

"And  Perez?" 

"  Very  true — and  Juan,  I  say,  must  have  been  mis- 
taken." 

"  He  is  a  wretch  ! " 

"  Nay,  nay,  do  not  abuse  the  child — my  own  sister's 
child — has  good  eyes,  too  ;  but,  nevertheless,  did  not 
see — was  mistaken — saw  this  Lopez  presume — this 
guitar-player — but  did  not  see,  as  Antonio  and  Perez 
did,  that  you  resented  this  presumption — that  you 
frowned  and  threatened  !  But  what  an  atrocious  im- 
pertinence, that  such  a  poor,  puny,  beardless  beast  of 
a  boy  should  thus  behave  himself.  Is  it  not  mon- 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  197 

strous  ?  But  he  shall  sweat  for  it !  should  he  not  ? 
Can  such  an  outrage  be  excused  ?  What  think  you, 
my  life — should  not  this  wretch  of  a  musician  suffer  ? 
— Say  ?  answer  me  !" 

The  lady  replied  by  a  vacant  stare. 

"  Ah  !  I  see  !  You  feel  the  enormity  of  his  offence. 
You  have  not  words  sufficient  to  declare  it.  Well ! 
you  will  be  better  able  to  acknowledge  the  propriety 
of  the  punishment  I  will  inflict  upon  him." 

These  words  were  accompanied  by  a  hideous  grin. 
The  tyrant  readily  conceived  all  the  torture  which  he 
inflicted.  He  watched  eagerly  the  features  of  the 
person  he  addressed,  anxious  to  extort  from  them 
some  acknowledgment  of  the  heart's  inward  suffer- 
ing ;  and  seemed  chagrined  to  perceive  the  steadiness 
of  aspect  with  which  the  woman  bore  his  scrutiny. 

"  Truly,  my  life,"  he  continued,  with  less  than 
usual  of  that  catlike  play  of  feature  which  declared 
his  peculiar  malice,  "  truly,  my  life,  it  pleases  me  to 
perceive  that  you  have  no  sympathies  for  this  mon- 
ster of  a  musician.  I  did  fear,  I  confess,  I  did  fear — 
that,  though  you  might  not  have  erred  with  him, 
you  might  have  been  foolish  enough,  through  some 
misplaced  sentiment  of  feminine  tenderness,  to  have 
interposed  and  pleaded  against  his  punishment.  That 
would  have  been  a  weakness,  my  beautiful  Gitano. 
We  must  punish  such  enormous  guilt.  We  must  pun- 
ish it  as  it  deserves  !  We  must  so  punish  such  an 
offender  as  that  he  shall  never  so~;offend  again  !" 

He  paused — and  gazed  steadily  upon  the  woman  ! 
But  she  too  well  knew  the  cool  malignity  of  the  tyrant 
17* 


198  THE  MAROON; 

— his  peculiar  and  unrelenting  nature — to  suffer  her- 
self to  be  deceived  by  the  obvious  lure  which  he  threw 
out  that  she  should  implore  mercy  for  the  criminal 
of  whom  he  spoke.  She  also  felt  the  importance  of 
maintaining  the  same  settled  indifference  and  coldness 
of  aspect  as  before.  He  allowed  some  lengthened 
moments  to  intervene,  and  resumed,  but  with  evident 
disappointment — 

"  And  you  have  nothing  to  say,  my  life  ?" 

"Nothing!" 

"  Madre  de  Dios  ?  But  it  is  so  precious  to  me, 
that  you  so  thoroughly  acknowledge  my  justice.  Ho  ! 
there — Juan  ! — bring  forth  this  vile  singer,  this  wretch 
of  a  guitar-player — this  audacious  musician  !  He 
shall  vex  no  longer  with  his  midnight  strummings,  the 
sweet  quiet  of  our  lady  of  Burgos — our  chaste  Diana 
— whom  he  makes  unhappy  by  his  presumption.  See 
to  it  Juan !  bring  him  forth  quickly  !" 


CHAPTER    II. 

THERE  might  have  been  seen,  for  a  single  moment, 
while  the  eye  of  Don  Velasquez  was  averted,  a  con- 
vulsive quiver  upon  the  lips  of  the  woman.  Her  arms 
somewhat  sank  in  that  moment,  and  were  clasped  to- 
gether with  a  spasmodic  intensity;  yet  the  action  was 
too  gently  performed — the  movement  quite  too  slight 
— to  fix  the  regards  of  the  person  whose  glance  she 
chiefly  feared.  In  that  brief  moment — in  those 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        199 

slightly  expressed  emotions — it  could  be  seen  that 
she  felt  her  worst  struggle  was  at  hand.  But  it  could 
be  seen,  also,  that  she  was  possessed  of  wondrous  fac- 
ulties for  endurance.  In  what  school  she  had  acquired 
this  capacity,  it  needs  not  that  we  should  ask — it  is 
enough  that  passion,  too,  has  its  power  of  self-restraint, 
as  well  as  virtue — and  is  never  so  intense,  perhaps,  as 
when  it  is  subjected,  by  its  own  will,  to  the  check  of 
denial  and  delay.  In  the  heart  of  the  woman,  this 
power  of  self-restraint,  once  acquired,  is  perhaps  far 
more  complete  than  in  the  heart  of  the  man — if  for 
no'  other  reason  than  that  of  her  habitual  subjection 
to  the  will  of  a  superior,  and  the  habitual  exercise 
of  a  policy  in  society  which  is  not  necessary  to  him 
by  whom  society  is  controlled  or  commanded. 

The  individual  named  Juan  now  made  his  appear- 
ance. He  was  what  is  called,  ordinarily,  a  handsome 
youth  ;  with  smooth  features,  long,  oily,  and  somewhat 
curling  locks,  which  evidently  demanded  much  of  his 
attention — and  a  person  which,  though  very  slightly, 
was  yet  very  symmetrically  made.  But  the  intel- 
ligence of  his  countenance  was  that  of  cunning  rather 
than  of  thought;  and  in  his  small  gray  eyes,  there  might 
be  seen  a  something  of  the  malignant  and  catlike 
expression  which  made  so  conspicuous  a  feature  in 
those  of  his  uncle.  He  was  showily  habited,  with  a 
gay  cloak  of  silk,  falling  gracefully  from  his  shoulders, 
in  addition  to  the  ordinary  doublet,  which  he  also 
wore,  of  a  rich  description  of  cloth,  with  slashed 
sleeves,  and  a  great  ruff  at  either  wrist.  A  heavy 
gold  chain  about  his  neck,  with  a  shining  agnus  dei, 


200  THE  MAROON; 

ostentatiously  displayed,  rather  discovered  his  love  of 
ornament  than  any  very  decided  religious  feeling  in 
his  breast.  But  without  detailing  the  several  parts 
of  his  costume,  it  will  suffice  to  say  that  he  was  a  sort 
of  a  sea-dandy,  thought  well  of  his  person,  and,  for 
reasons  of  his  own,  was  disposed  to  make  the  most  of 
it.  His  manner  was  full  of  consequence  and  con- 
fidence, and,  as  he  approached  his  uncle,  it  might  be 
seen  that  he  possessed  no  small  share  of  influence  in 
determining  the  character  of  the  latter's  counsels. 
He  drew  nigh  to  him,  and  whispered  a  few  moments 
in  his  ear. 

"  Be  it  so,  my  son  !  be  it  so!"  said  the  other  kindly, 
and  with  a  sudden  brightening  of  the  features.  Had 
the  eye  of  Don  Velasquez,  at  that  moment,  been 
directed  suddenly  to  the  features  of  the  lady,  he  would 
have  been  somewhat  gratified,  as  well  as  informed,  by 
their  frequent  and  excessive  changes.  On  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  youth,  Juan,  she  had  addressed  to 
him  a  single  glance  of  equal  bitterness  and  scorn ; 
and,  while  he  stooped  and  whispered  in  the  ears  of 
his  uncle,  her  look  was  that  of  a  loathing  such  as  one 
would  naturally  feel  at  contact,  suddenly,  with  a  rep- 
tile equally  hideous  and  dangerous.  But  her  features, 
under  the  control  of  a  most  watchful  will,  resumed 
their  look  of  icy  indifference  before  her  tyrant  could 
detect  their  changes.  . 

The  whispered  dialogue  with  Juan  over,  the  latter 
drew  nigh  to  the  lady,  and  proceeded  to  whisper  in 
her  ear  also.  She  recoiled  from  him  with  unqualified 
disgust. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        201 

"Beware!"  he  exclaimed,  but  in  subdued  accents, 
Beware,  Maria;  you  are  on  the  eve  of  the  precipice, 
and  a  single  word  may  incur  for  you  the  fate  of  your 
favorite." 

"  Assure  me  of  that  and  I  welcome  it,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  sudden  resumption  of  all  the  vivacity 
which  could  be  made  to  gather  in  an  eye  of  unexam- 
pled brilliancy  and  beauty. 

The  youth  smiled  spitefully,  but  said,  "You  are 
wild  !  That  fate  would  realize  no  hopes  for  either  of 
you.  It  would  be  death,  and  something  worse  than 
death — denial  to  the  grave,  and,  of  course,  beyond  it. 
But  I  am  not  now  speaking  of  your  death.  It  is 
through  me,  Maria,  that  you  live.  Nay,  you  live — 
need  I  tell  you  that? — because  I  love!" 

"What  if  I  proclaim  you,  where  you  stand,  the 
villain  that  you  are?"  answered  the  lady,  in  accents 
similarly  subdued  with  his  own. 

"  It  would  avail  you  nothing  !  He  would  regard 
it  only  as  a  mode  of  escape,  which,  in  your  despera- 
tion, you  seek  to  adopt.  Does  it  need  still  that  I 
should  prove  to  you  how  completely  I  control  his  ear 
and  fashion  his  will." 

"  Alas,  no  !  But  what  is  the  purpose,  as  he  un- 
derstands it,  of  this  whispered  conference  with  me  !" 

"  Ah !  that  is  my  secret,"  the  other  answered  with 
a  smile — "  enough,  that  I  speak  of  anything  but 
that !  My  true  purpose  is  with  you,  and  for  you, 
and  myself !  I  will  save  this  favorite  of  yours — save 
him  unharmed  aboard  the  vessel,  with  probably  no 
greater  penalty  than  close  imprisonment,  and" — he 


202  THE  MAROON; 

spoke  this  with  a  grin — "  perhaps  a  denial  of  his 
guitar.  I  will  do  this,  Maria,  if  you  will  become  wise 
as  I  would  have  you — if — " 

u  I  understand  you — but  that  is  impossible  !  I  tell 
you,  Juan  de  Silva,  I  loathe  you  too  much  to  keep 
terms  with  you.  You  have  gone  too  far — you  have 
shown  me  too  vile  an  aspect — too  serpent-like  a  tooth, 
for  me  to  suffer  your  near  approach,  save  as  a  most 
hateful  and  hated  enemy.  I  will  brave  any  fate  be- 
fore I  suffer  this  !" 

"  Beware!  your  words  but  doom  your  favorite." 

"  Be  it  so  !  Had  he  been  the  man  I  thought  him, 
it  had  never  come  to  this.  It  had  been  your  fate,  not 
his,  or  mine !  He  deserves  all  that  he  finds,  failing 
himself,  and  failing  me,  at  the  proper  moment.  Hark 
you,  the  dagger  which  his  fingers  clutched,  when  your 
felon  hand  rested  upon  his  shoulder,  was  put  into  them 
by  mine ;  and  the  name  which  my  lips  uttered  when  I 
gave  it  him,  was  that  of  Juan  de  Silva.  And  yet  he 
struck  not,  but  tamely  submitted,  sacrificing  himself 
and  me.  Now,  that  you  have  heard  all,  judge  for 
yourself  what  terms  there  can  be  between  us  !" 

The  lofty,  if  not  noble  scorn  which  filled  her  features 
at  this  narrative,  heightened  wondrously  the  beauty 
of  her  countenance.  Her  companion,  though  evi- 
dently moved  by  her  words,  could  not  forbear  betray- 
ing, with  open  admiration  of  his  gaze,  how  much  it 
stimulated  his  passion.  He  spoke,  after  a  brief  mo- 
ment, lost  in  the  absorbing  pleasure  of  his  gaze. 

"I  can  forgive  you,  Maria,  and  adore  you  still. 
That  this  Lopez  was  thus  base  and  insensible,  should 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  203 

surely  satisfy  you  that  he  was  not  meant  to  enjoy,  or 
to  deserve,  a  heart  like  yours.  Be  mine,  and  all  is 
yours !  I  am  here  the  master.  I  can  save  this  crea- 
ture— will  save  him,  for  I  fear  him  not,  but — I  must 
have  your  assurance." 

"  Never  !  Juan  de  Silva  !  Never  !" 

"Beware!" 

"Never!" 

"Once  again,  beware!     You  precipitate  his  fate  !" 

"I  should  precipitate  myself  upon  a  worse,  if  I 
sought  to  save  him  upon  these  conditions.  I  loathe 
and  hate  you,  Juan  de  Silva ;  too  much  to  endure 
your  smiles,  your  favors,  the  snake-like  and  revolting 
coil  of  your  venomous  embrace." 

"You  have  doomed  him!"  was  the  sullen  answer 
from  the  scarcely  parted  lips  of  the  youth.  "  His 
fate  is  sealed  forever  !" 

He  was  about  to  turn  away. 

"  Stay !"  was  the  eager  whisper  of  the  woman. 

"Well." 

"What  is  that  fate?"  was  the  faintly  spoken  inquiry 
that  reached  his  ears. 

"  You  will  know  soon  enough.  His  hour  ap- 
proaches." 

"And  I  too  am  prepared  for  mine!  I  too  can 
perish!"  were  the  muttered  accents  which  reached  the 
retreating  ears  of  the  scowling  Juan.  He  turned,  and 
fixed  a  simple  glance  upon  her  pallid  but  proud  fea- 
tures. The  glance  was  one  of  equal  hate  and 
mockery.  It  helped  to  strengthen  her,  and  her  high 
spirit  prepared  itself  for  the  worst. 


204  THE  MAROON; 


CHAPTER    III. 

"  I  WAS  right,  sir,"  said  Juan  aloud,  as  he  returned 
to  the  seat  of  his  uncle,  who  had  been  watching  with 
some  curiosity  the  progress  of  this  conference,  of 
which  he  heard  not,  of  course,  a  single  syllable.  "  She 
is  prudent  and  sensible.  She  will  not  interpose  with 
prayer  or  argument  to  balk  the  ends  of  justice.  She 
will  not  meddle  with  his  fate." 

There  was  something  like  disappointment  in  the 
dark,  malignant  features  of  Velasquez. 

"  Yet  did  she  seem  exceedingly  slow  in  coming  to 
her  resolution  ?" 

"By  no  means,  sir.  She  was  prompt  enough  ;  but" 
— here  the  sentence  was  concluded  in  a  whisper 
that  reached  only  the  ears  of  Velasquez — "but  it  was 
my  policy  to  persuade  her,  if  possible,  that  her  en- 
treaties might  avert  his  fate.  Could  I  have  succeeded, 
it  might  have  served  to  confirm  and  strengthen  our 
suspicions.  But  she  is  firm — she  may  be  guiltless  ! 
But  of  the  guilt  of  Lopez  there  can  be  no  doubt.  She 
denies  not  that." 

Juan  had  his  own  motives  for  this  statement.  He 
did  not  despair,  yet,  of  finally  overcoming  the  resolu- 
tion of  the  woman.  His  passion,  in  this,  somewhat 
baffled  his  judgment.  But  of  this  hereafter. 

"Well,  there  is  nothing  left  but  to  punish  the  one. 
Bring  him  forth." 

Juan  retired — the  anxious  soul  of  the  lady  followed 


A  LEGEND  OF  TIIE  CARII3BEES.  205 

his  parting  footsteps,  but  her  eyes  maintained  a  steady 
and  unfaltering  gaze,  as  before,  neither  resting  upon 
nor  absolutely  shrinking  from  the  countenance  of 
Velasquez.  The  pilot  was  again  summoned  to  the 
side  of  the  latter. 

"  Well  ?"  was  the  brief  but  intelligible  inquiry.  It 
was  sufficiently  understood. 

"We  approach,  Senor." 

"  Good  !  see  to  your  ship." 

The  pilot  disappeared — a  bustle  announced  new 
parties  to  the  scene,  and,  preceded  by  Juan,  a  youth 
came  forward  under  the  conduct  of  two  soldiers.  He 
was  manacled  hand  and  foot,  and  moved  with  difficulty. 
The  rattling  of  the  chains  was  heard.  It  smote  upon 
the  soul  of  the  woman,  but  she  turned  not  once  her 
head.  The  eyes  of  Velasquez  were  upon  her.  A 
savage  grin  lighted  up  his  dark,  Satanic  countenance, 
and  left  no  doubt  in  the  minds  of  those  who  beheld 
that  he  meditated  a  purpose  of  the  deadliest  malice. 
The  youth  in  bonds  was  of  graceful  person  and  hand- 
some features,  but  they  were  not  those  of  a  man  of 
character  or  courage.  The  cheeks  were  of  a  deadly 
paleness — the  lips  quivered  with  apprehension — the 
whole  air  and  expression  were  those  of  one  totally 
unequal  to  the  trial  that  lay  before  him.  His  eye 
wandered  restlessly  and  apprehensively  to  the  counte- 
nance of  one  or  the  other  of  the  three  parties  to  whom 
the  reader  has  been  introduced,  without  daring  to 
encounter  the  gaze  of  either.  Velasquez  watched  his 
movements  with  the  exultation  of  a  cat  in  possession 
of  her  prey.  The  face  of  Juan  bore  a  similar  expres- 
18 


206  THE  MAROON; 

sion ;  while  in  the  fine  masculine  spirit  which  made 
itself  conspicuous  in  the  face  of  the  woman,  in  spite 
of  all  her  efforts  to  subdue  it,  there  might  be  seen  a 
strange  conflict  between  tenderness  and  scorn. 

"Unbind  him  !"  said  Velasquez. 

"  Oh,  thanks!  thanks  !"  muttered  the  victim,  looking 
appealingly  to  his  tyrant.  The  scorn  deepened  in  its 
shadows  upon  the  face  of  the  woman. 

"You  know  not  yet  for  what  you  have  to  be  thank- 
ful," was  the  sneer  of  Juan,  as  he  busied  himself  in 
undoing  the  manacles. 

"  Speak  to  me,  Juan.  For  what  am  I  reserved  ? 
what  may  this  mean  if  it  be  not  mercy?" 

"It  means  freedom,"  was  the  response,  still  in  a 
whisper. 

"Well — and  that  — " 

"May  be  mercy,"  was  the  ironical  return  of  Juan, 
as  he  withdrew  from  between  Velasquez  and  his  prey. 
The  latter  now  looked  -with  features  in  which  hope 
and  doubt  were  still  at  a  lively  struggle,  upon  the  face 
of  his  tyrant.  He  made  a  step  toward  him.  The 
uplifted  hand  of  Velasquez  arrested  his  approach. 

"  Lopez  de  Levya,  were  I  to  have  thee  drawn  up 
by  the  neck  to  yon  spar,  as  the  heretic  English  do 
those  whom  they  would  destroy,  it  were  no  more  than 
thou  deservest.  But  I  am  of  a  more  merciful  temper 
— I  have  taken  the  chains  from  thy  limbs." 

A  lively  gratitude  overspread  the  features  of  the 
person  addressed ;  but  he  still  trembled  with  a  natural 
anxiety  and  doubt.  He  knew  his  tyrant. 

"  I  mean  to  set  thee  free  1" 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  207 

"Thanks!  thanks!" 

"  Nay,  I  will  do  more  for  thee  than  this.  I  will 
elevate  thee  to  rare  dignities.  I  will  make  thee  a  chief, 
a  prince,  a  sovereign  of  land  and  sea.  Thou  shalt  be 
able  to  stand  up  in  thine  empire,  and  none  will  say 
thee  nay." 

A  pause.  The  culprit  looked  wildly  at  this  lan- 
guage. It  was  something  more  than  apprehension 
that  shone  in  his  face.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
hideous  malice  of  the  speaker;  there  was  no  doubting 
the  ironical  grin  upon  the  lips  of  Juan  ;  and  the  ex- 
perience of  the  ship  had  seldom  found  mercy  or  for- 
giveness or  generosity  in  either.  The  eye  of  the 
woman  was  now  fixed  fully  upon  that  of  Velasquez, 
her  intense  interest  in  what  she  had  to  hear  making 
her  somewhat  relax  in  the  stubborn  vigilance  of 
thought  which  had  impressed  itself  upon  all  her  fea- 
tures. Velasquez  resumed: — 

"  The  quiet  of  this  part  of  the  Caribbean  Sea,  as 
thou  well  knowest,  is  seldom  broken  by  the  prows  of 
Europeans.  The  savage  steers  his  bark  in  other 
courses,  dreading  its  wild  currents  and  fearful  whirl- 
pools. Here,  he  who  shall  make  his  abode  will  be  a 
sovereign  beyond  dispute.  It  may  be  ages  before  he 
will  see  upon  his  horizon,  driven  by  hostile  tempests, 
the  white  sails  of  a  Christian  vessel.  No  empire  could 
be  more  secure  from  challenge — no  state  more  certain- 
ly beyond  the  danger  of  overthrow." 

Another  pause,  and  a  conviction  of  what  was  in- 
tended at  once  passed  into  the  soul  of  the  woman. 
Her  hands  were  griped  convulsively  together,  and  the 


208  THE  MAROON; 

paleness  of  her  cheek  increased.  The  culprit,  to  whom 
Velasquez  addressed  himself,  simply  appeared  bewil- 
dered. Chains,  confinement,  terror,  and  probably 
•want  of  food  and  sleep,  had  rendered  his  faculties  ob- 
tuse. But  Velasquez  proceeded  rapidly  to  his  com- 
plete enlightenment. 

"Look  out  upon  the  sea,  good  Lopez,"  and  his  hand 
waved  in  the  direction  of  the  object  to  which  the  ship 
had  been  sensibly  approaching.  At  a  league's  dis- 
tance a  little  island  was  distinctly  perceptible,  though 
seeming  to  be  scarcely  upheaved  above  the  billows 
which  encircled  it.  Trees  in  groups  might  be  seen  to 
wave  upon  it,  the  earth  rose  into  moderate  hills  and 
elevations  as  the  eye  penetrated  the  interior.  Nume- 
rous wild-fowl  sailed  in  swift  gyrations  above  it,  and 
gigantic  birds  strode  majestically  along  its  white  and 
sandy  shores. 

"That  island,  Lopez  de  Levya,  I  discovered  for  the 
first  time  when  I  last  traversed  this  ocean.  I  made 
the  discovery  against  my  own  will,  being  driven  hither 
by  stress  of  weather.  I  little  dreamed  at  that  time 
of  its  future  usefulness ;  but  when  our  weather-beaten 
pilot,  old  Gomez,  in  beholding  its  solitude,  declared 
that  it  would  be  the  spot,  of  all  the  world,  in  which 
love  would  be  most  likely  to  find  security,  we  called 
it,  in  a  merry  jest,  'The  Isle  of  Lovers,'  and  when  I 
remembered  that  it  was  farther  said,  'One  might  be 
a  sovereign  here  without  paying  his  tenth  to  any 
crown,'  then  did  I  conceive  how  fitly  I  might  reward 
merit,  by  bestowing  this  island  upon  the  deserving — 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        209 

upon  one  who  would  desire  security  for*  his  love  and  a 
sovereignty  beyond  dispute." 

The  eyes  of  the  culprit  were  gradually  enlarging. 
He  had  slowly  begun  to  guess  the  terrible  destiny 
which  was  before  him,  and  the  first  feeling  of  over- 
whelming apprehension  necessarily  kept  him  dumb. 
He  looked  at  his  tyrant  with  eyes  full  of  vacant  terror, 
The  latter  gave  him  but  few  moments  for  meditation 
or  doubt,  as  he  thus  proceeded  : — 

"  Thou  hast  done  me  great  wrong,  Lopez  de  Levya, 
Thou  hast  audaciously  presumed  upon  the  lady  of  my 
love.     For  this  wrong  will  I  reward  thee  !     We  are 
commanded,  as  thou   knowest,    my  son,    to    forgive 
those  who  do  us  injury.     I  will  go  farther  than  the 
commandment.     I  will  honor  thee  with  wealth  and 
territory,    and  the  highest   distinction.     Henceforth 
shalt  thou  be  a  prince,  an  absolute  sovereign,  Lopez 
de  Levya,  and  as  thy  suitable  empire  behold  the  '  Isle 
of  Lovers,'  which  I  now  bestow  upon  thee.     There 
shalt  thou  make  music  to  the  night,  with  no  constraint. 
None   shalt  say  nay   to   thy  strumming.      If  thou 
shalt  please  no  damsel's  ears   with  thy  song,  thou 
shalt  at  least  offend  in  nothing  the  rights  of  others, 
Thou  shalt  sing  thy  areytos  to  the  stars,  and  find 
them  more  gentle  in  thy  sight  than  such   eyes   as 
thou  hast  but  too  frequently  offended  with  thy  wilful 
fondness.     Am  I  not  right  in  this,  lady  mine?"  and 
with  a   smirk  quite    as   full   of  sarcasm   as    of  ten- 
derness, the  persecutor  of  both  parties  turned  his  gaze 
from  the  face  of  the  wretched  man  to  that  of  the 
scarcely  less  wretched  woman.    But  he  gained  nothing 
18* 


210  THE  MAROON; 

by  the  scrutiny.  Her  glance  was  fixed  and  obdurate, 
and  conveyed  no  meaning  in  it,  such  as  that  which 
his  jealous  suspicions  might  have  looked  to  see.  He 
watched  her  features  for  a  few  moments  with  a  dis- 
satisfied expression,  then  resuming  his  former  tones 
and  aspect,  he  addressed  himself  to  his  nephew, 
Juan. 

"  Juan,  my  son,  we  trust  we  have  sufficiently  said 
to  make  this  excellent  prince  understand  what  honors 
are  designed  him  in  requital  for  his  evil  deeds.  It  is 
for  thee  to  do  the  rest.  Take  the  prince,  therefore, 
conduct  him  to  the  boat,  and  do  thou  see  him  safely 
placed  within  the  limits  of  his  empire.  Give  him 
provision  for  a  month,  in  which  space  of  time  doubt- 
less he  will  be  able  to  bring  his  subjects  to  proper 
subjection  and  take  his  tithes  of  the  produce  of  the 
land.  Give  him  a  crossbow  and  a  spear,  that  he  may 
coerce  them  should  they  rebel  or  fly,  and  see  that  you 
forget  not  to  hang  his  guitar  about  his  neck,  that  he 
may  regale  his  hours  of  recreation  and  repose  with 
the  precious  ditties  he  so  much  loves  to  sing  in  other 
ears.  So  shall  he  have  pleasing  recollections  of  one, 
at  least,  for  whom  he  will  scarcely  ever  touch  guitar 
again." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  doom  was  pronounced ;  the  hand  of  the  exe- 
cutioner— the  hand  of  his  most  bitter  enemy,  Juan 
de  Silva — was  laid  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  victim  ; 
but  he  refused  to  yield  his  faith  to  his  own  fears.  He 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        211 

still  hoped  against  conviction — still  shrunk  from  a 
belief  in  that  punishment  which,  to  the  timid  and  de- 
pendent nature,  such  as  his,  seemed  to  involve  terrors 
much  more  extreme  than  any  threatened  form  of  death. 
But  when  he  at  last  yielded  to  the  conviction  which 
had  long  been  entertained  by  all  around — unless,  per- 
haps, by  the  woman,  his  supposed  associate  in  crime 
— then  the  whole  strength  of  his  soul,  feeble  in  its 
best  moments,  seemed  to  give  way  on  the  instant. 
Every  show  of  manhood  was  forgotten.  There  was 
no  pride  to  keep  up  appearances  ;  no  struggle  to 
maintain  a  decent  show  of  fortitude  and  firmness  ; 
but  the  miserable  culprit  sank  down  into  the  most 
lamentable  imbecility,  to  the  shame  of  all  around  him. 
"Mercy!  mercy!  For  the  sake  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  have  mercy  upon  me,  Don  Velasquez,"  he 
shrieked  rather  than  pleaded,  when  the  determined 
aspects  of  the  men  appointed  to  convey  him  to  the 
boat,  and  the  violent  grasp  of  Juan  upon  his  shoulder, 
silenced  all  doubts  as  to  the  real  intentions  of  his 
tyrant  to  carry  out  his  sentence,  in  full,  as  it  had  been 
delivered.  The  hard-souled  sailors,  as  much  in  scorn 
as  in  pity,  recoiled  from  the  piercing  feminine  entreaty 
of  the  victim,  and  left  him  free  for  the  moment,  as  if 
in  doubt  whether  Velasquez  might  not  yield  to  the 
supplications  which  were  urged  with  such  a  humiliat- 
ing disregard  to  manhood.  Falling  upon  his  knees, 
he  crawled  toward  the  spot  where  sat  the  arbiter  of 
his  fate,  glowing  in  the  enjoyment  of  that  bitter-sweet 
morsel  of  revenge  which  is  so  grateful  to  the  malignant 
nature.  In  his  eyes — had  those  of  the.  victim  not 


212  THE  MAROON; 

been  blinded  by  his  own  tears — had  he  not  been  too 
base  to  venture  to  accompany  his  entreaties  by  a  re- 
solute look  upon  the  face  of  him  upon  whose  word  his 
fate  rested — he  might  have  seen  how  hopeless  were 
all  his  pleadings.  But  he  saw  nothing — as  he  crawled 
along  the  deck  to  the  feet  of  the  tyrant — but  the  ter- 
rible danger  which  he  was  anxious  to  escape.  Could 
he  have  seen  the  inexpressible  scorn  which  dilated  the 
nostrils  and  curled  the  lips  of  the  woman — could  he 
have  heard  her  bitter  and  only  half-suppressed  accents 
of  loathing — muttered  between  her  gnashing  teeth  ! 
But  they  could  not  have  changed  his  nature  ! 

"  Can  he  not  die  !  Can.  he  not  die  !  Anything 
but  this  !  And  yet,"  she  continued — herself  uncon- 
scious that  she  spoke — "  yet  how  should  it  be  that 
one  who  had  not  the  soul  to  slay  his  enemy,  in  the 
moment  when  all  that  made  life  precious  lay  in  the 
blow — how  should  it  be  that  he  should  aim  the  wea- 
pon at  his  own  bloodless  heart,  though  to  escape  this 
most  loathsome  tyranny." 

"  Beware  !""  was  the  single  word  whispered  close 
beside  her  ear,  from  the  lips  of  Juan  de  Silva.  '"  Be- 
ware !  lest  a  worst  fate  befall  thee  even  than  his ! 
Wouldst  thou  peril  life  for  such  a  reptile !" 

She  was  silent  at  the  suggestion.  Not  that  she 
had  any  fears  of  death;  but,  just  then,  her  quick 
thought  and  resolute  spirit  suddenly  conceived  its  own 
method  for  escape  and  vengeance.  Other  emotions 
than  those  of  scorn  filled  her  bosom,  as  the  whisper 
of  Juan,  like  the  hissing  of  a  hateful  serpent,  filled 
her  ears ;  and  in  their  sudden  consciousness,  she 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        213 

trembled  lest  her  feeling  should  declare  itself  aloud,  in 
spite  of  the  resolute  will  which  she  invoked  to  curb 
and  keep  it  in.  The  emotion  which  her  lips  did  not 
declare,  was  conspicuous  for  the  instant  on  her  coun- 
tenance, and  remained  unseen  only  in  consequence  of 
the  absorbing  nature  of  the  event  in  progress  at  the 
feet  of  Velasquez.  To  this  spot  the  abject  culprit 
had  continued  to  crawl,  unrestrained  by  the  stern 
command  of  his  tyrant  not  to  approach  him.  To  his 
knees  he  clung,  though  the  latter  strove  to  shake  him 
off,  and  to  spurn  him  away  with  the  members  which 
were  too  heavily  swathed  and  bandaged  to  suffer  him 
to  use  them  with  any  efficiency  for  such  a  purpose. 
His  pleadings,  which  were  of  a  sort  to  move  loathing 
rather  than  pity,  produced  no  feeling  of  either  kind 
in  the  breast  of  Velasquez.  They  provoked  his  merri- 
ment rather.  He  grinned  as  he  beheld  the  writhings 
of  the  wretched  creature  before  him.  He  had  a  sorry 
jest  for  all  his  contortions.  Verily,  the  Spanish  ad- 
venturers of  that  day  in  America,  were  a  terrible 
banditti !  Of  these,  Velasquez  was  a  proper  specimen. 
When  his  victim  appealed  to  him  for  the  sake  of  his 
widowed  mother  at  Segovia,  he  answered — 

"  I  shall  tell  her  of  thy  possessions,  Lopez ;  she 
shall  hear  of  thy  elevation.  She  was  always  a  woman 
of  rare  ambition.  Did  I  not  know  her  in  her  younger 
days  ?  Knowest  thou  not  that  she  once  disposed  her 
mantilla  so  that  she  might  make  a  captive  of  me? 
Had  she  done  so,  verily,  it  might  have  been  mine  own 
son,  for  whom  this  Isle  of  Lovers  hath  been  found.  I 
shall  tell  her  of  thy  fortune,  Lopez.  She  shall  re- 


214  THE  MAROON; 

joice  in  thy  principality ;  and  it  may  be,  will  find  her 
way  out  to  thee,  seeking  to  share  in  the  wealth  of  thy 
dominions.  Enough  now — take  him  hence,  I  tell  thee  ; 
— Juan,  son,  wilt  thpu  not  see  the  prince  bestowed 
upon  his  empire  !  I  begin  to  weary  of  this  gratitude." 
Again  the  officers  approached,  and  again  they  hesi- 
tated— all  but  Juan — as  the  cries  of  the  wretched 
imbecile  rang  through  the  vessel.  The  sailors  would 
still  have  suffered  him  to  urge  his  prayers  for  mercy ; 
but  Juan  had  no  such  yielding  nature,  and  he  knew, 
better  than  they,  how  profitless  were  all  entreaties. 
He  had  resolved,  for  his  own  purpose^  that  there 
should  be  no  relentings  in  the  brutal  spirit  of  Velas- 
quez. He  left  the  side  of  Maria  de  Pacheco,  at  the 
summons  of  his  uncle,  and  with  his  own  hand,  grap- 
pled the  victim,  while  giving  the  word  to  the  sailors 
chosen  to  assist  him.  But,  rising  to  his  feet,  Lopez 
dashed  away  from  the  grasp  of  his  assailant,  and 
once  more  rushed  in  supplication  to  Velasquez.  His 
terrors  gave  him  wonderful  strength,  and  a  faculty  of 
speech  scarcely  less  wonderful.  He  was  positively 
eloquent.  Never  was  prayer  for  mercy  more  passion- 
ate or  more  pregnant  with  the  best  argument  in  be- 
half of  mercy.  They  touched  all  hearts  but  the  two ' 
alone  which  it  had  been  of  any  avail  to  move.  These 
were  immovable.  Again  were  his  entreaties  answered 
by  scurrile  jest,  mocking  suggestion,  and  derisive 
laughter.  The  taste  for  the  sports  of  the  tauridor  who 
tortures  the  bull  to  madness  before  he  bestows  the 
coup  de  grace,  could  alone  afford  any  likeness  to  the 
sort  of  pleasure  which  this  sea-despot  enjoyed  in  the 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        215 

fruitless  agonies  of  his  victim.  It  was  in  a  sort  of 
defiance,  produced  by  very  shame  and  despair,  that 
the  culprit  rose  at  length  to  his  feet,  and,  folding  his 
arms  upon  his  breast,  submitted  to  his  fate,  from  which 
it  was  evident  that  no  degree  of  humiliation  could 
possibly  suffice  to  save  him.  A  smile  softened  the 
features  of  Maria  de  Pacheco. 

"  It  is  well !"  she  murmured  to  herself.  "  A  little 
sooner  and  the  shame  would  have  been  spared  to  both !" 

The  victim  seemed  to  hear  her  accents,  though  not 
to  understand  them.  He  turned  a  timid  glance  to- 
ward her,  but  her  eye  no  longer  sought  his  own.  She 
was  conscious  that  other  eyes  were  then  keenly  fixed 
on  both. 

The  boat  was  declared  to  be  in  readiness.  The 
month's  store  of  provisions,  accorded  by  Velasquez, 
were  thrown  into  her ; — the  spear  and  the  crossbow  fol- 
lowed ;  and  the  hands  of  the  seamen,  appointed  to  con- 
vey "the  Maroon,"  were  fastened  firmly  on  his  shoul- 
der. He  was  now  subdued  to  submission,  if  not  re- 
conciled to  his  fate.  He  no  longer  opposed  himself 
to  their  efforts,  and  though  he  still  spoke  the  language 
of  entreaty,  it  was  no  longer  addressed  to  his  tyrant. 

"  Oh  !  my  countrymen — Antonio,  Pedro,  it  is  you 
who  do  me  thus ;  it  is  you,  my  countrymen,  who  help 
to  give  me  up  to  such  a  dreadful  doom  !" 

Such  was  the  touching  appeal,  made  to  ancient 
comrades,  which  the  poor  wretch  uttered  at  the  part- 
ing moment.  They  looked  downward  in  silence,  but 
did  not  relax  their  hold  upon  him. 

"  And   I  am  to  perish   on  that   desolate   island  ; 


210  THE  MAROON; 

and  the  people  of  my  own  land  leave  me  to  this  soli- 
tude !  They  hear  the  voice  of  my  prayer,  and  shut 
their  ears  against  it !  I  am  never  more  to  hear  human 
speech — never  more  to  look  upon  Christian  face — nor 
call  any  man  brother  or  friend.  Oh  !  Spaniards, 
brothers,  friends,  countrymen  ! — will  you  doom  me 
thus — will  you  desert  me  thus  to  the  solitude  of  the 
sea,  which  is  worset  han  any  death  ?  Christians !  help 
me — speak  for  me — save  me  !" 

There  was  a  moisture  in  the  eyes  of  the  weather- 
beaten  seamen  who  stood  around  him.  At  this  mo- 
ment the  woman  advanced  suddenly  and  stood  before 
Velasquez.  Juan  beheld  her  purpose  in  her  counte- 
nance, and  whispered  as  she  passed  him,  "Beware  !" 
She  heard,  but  did  not  heed  the  warning. 

"Velasquez  !" — she  spoke  with  firmness — "surely, 
you  have  carried  this  jest  far  enough.  You  cannot 
mean  really  to  devote  this  wretched  man  to  this  place 
of  desolation  ?" 

"Jest!"  exclaimed  the  other;  "jest,  call  you  it  ? 
By  my  faith,  but  you  have  very  merrily  described  a  very 
serious  ceremonial.  Yet,  if  there  be  a  jest  designed 
at  all,  I  see  that  it  hath  been  omitted.  Ho,  Juan, 
bring  forth  the  guitar  of  our  prince.  See  you  that 
it  be  slung  about  the  neck  of  Don  Lopez.  It  hath  a 
band  of  crimson — truly  the  fitting  collar  for  a  sove- 
reign. It  will  help  him  to  remember  his  old  songs 
when  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  new  seigniory.  He 
shall  have  his  ditty  and  jest  together.  It  were  cruel, 
lady  mine,  to  deprive  him  of  that  which  hath  been  so 
much  his  nightly  solace  !  Eh  !  what  sayest  thou?" 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        217 

The  person  addressed  recoiled  as  if  from  the  tongue 
of  the  viper.  She  was  silent,  unless  the  thought 
which  moved  her  lips,  but  did  not  escape  in  words, 
might  be  construed  into  speech. 

"  At  all  events — it  is  but  death — but  death,  after 
all !  He  hath  weapons,  and  the  sea  rolls  at  his 
feet.  He  hath  but  to  will,  and  his  exile  ends  in  a 
moment !" 

We  shorten  a  scene  which  was  only  too  painfully 
protracted.  The  victim  was  hurried  to  the  boat.  His 
feet  pressed  the  lonely  islet  of  which  he  was  mockingly 
declared  the  prince.  He  stood  erect,  but  not  in  the 
consciousness  of  sway.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
vessel  from  which  he  was  torn,  and  in  which  he  saw 
nothing  but  the  country,  the  friends,  the  familiar  faces 
from  which  he  was  forever  sundered.  He  was  uncon- 
scious of  the  mocking  performance,  when  Juan  de 
Silva  hung  the  guitar  about  his  neck.  The  awkward 
appendage  was  no  burden  to  him  at  such  a  moment. 
The  faces  of  those  who  had  placed  him  upon  the  sands 
were  turned  away.  The  sound  of  their  parting  voices 
had  died  away  upon  his  ears.  The  boat  was  pushed 
from  the  shore — yet  he  still  stood,  with  a  stare  of  va- 
cant misery  in  his  aspect,  upon  the  spot  where  they 
had  placed  him.  Long  after  the  prow  of  the  boat 
had  been  turned  for  the  ship,  he  could  be  seen  in  the 
same  place,  with  the  ludicrous  decoration  upon  his 
breast,  while,  with  still  uplifted  hands,  he  seemed  to 
implore  the  sympathy  of  his  comrades  and  the  mercy 
of  his  tyrant.  But  of  neither  was  he  vouchsafed  any 
proofs.  Mercy  was  none — sympathy  was  powerless 
19 


218  THE  MAROON; 

to  save.  Even  she  !  But  of  her  he  dared  not  think ! 
She  had  been  his  fate  ;  and  though,  in  his  soul,  he 
dared  not  blame  her,  yet  when  she  rose  to  recollection, 
it  was  always  to  provoke  a  sentiment  of  bitterness  which 
a  nobler  spirit  never  could  have  felt.  He  saw  the  boat 
rejoin  the  vessel.  He  saw  once  more  ^her  broad  sails 
spread  forth  to  catch  the  breeze.  Gradually  they 
lessened  beneath  his  gaze.  The  world  which  held  his 
soul  and  his  hope,  grew  smaller  and  smaller,  contract- 
ing to  a  speck,  which,  at  length,  faded  utterly  away 
in  the  deepening  haze  which  girdled  the  horizon.  Then 
wrhen  his  eyes  failed  any  longer  to  delude  him  with  a 
hope,  did  he  fall  prostrate  upon  the  sands,  in  a  swoon- 
ing condition,  which,  for  the  time,  wholly  and  happily 
obliterated  the  terrible  sense  of  his  desolation. 


CHAPTER    Y. 

IT  will  not  be  difficult  with  many  persons,  to  com- 
prehend how  a  condition  of  utter  solitude  should  not 
necessarily  produce  a  sense  of  pain.  To  the  man  of 
great  mental  resources,  and  of  a  habit  contemplative 
and  thoughtful,  such  a  condition  would  be  apt  rather 
to  suggest  ideas  of  complete  security  and  repose, 
which  would  be  friendly  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  favorite 
indulgence.  To  spirits  whom  the  world  has  soured — 
whom  the  greedy  strifes  of  men  have  offended — men 
of  nice  sensibilities  and  jealous  affections,  whose  friend- 
ships have  proved  false  and  wounded — as  so  many 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  219 

deceitful  reeds  which  have  broken  and  pierced  their 
sides ;  to  the  heart  of  deep  and  earnest  passions, 
robbed  of  those  upon  whom  all  the  heart's  affections 
have  been  set ;  these,  all,  might  rejoice  in  an  abode 
from  which  the  trying  services,  and  vexing  necessities, 
and  disquieting  obtrusions,  of  social  life,  were  shut 
out  and  excluded  forever.  But  Lopez  de  Levya  was 
not  one  of  these !  He  was  young,  and  handsome,  and 
hopeful,  and  this  was  his  first  trouble.  The  world 
still  loomed  out  before  his  vision,  the  gay  and  songful 
paradise  which  youthful  fancies  describe  it  still.  There 
were  warm  passions  and  eager  sympathies  in  his  soul 
still  to  be  gratified ;  and  though  we  may  not  regard 
him  as  a  person  to  whom  affections  of  any  kind  were 
very  necessary,  yet  had  he  a  bosom  filled  with  those 
which  grow  from  an  intense  appetite  for  praise — which 
could  have  their  gratification  only  in  a  world  of  beings 
like  himself.  It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the 
utter  desolation  which  possessed  the  bosom  of  the  un- 
happy wretch  when  he  did  finally  awaken  to  realize 
the  fact  that  he  was  left  alone — utterly  abandoned  by 
his  comrades — upon  an  obscure  islet  of  the  Caribbean 
Sea!  It  was  a  long  time,  indeed,  before  he  could 
utterly  conceive  his  own  situation — a  long  time  before 
he  could  persuade  himself  that  the  stubborn  and  un- 
relenting spirit  of  Velasquez  had  absolutely  resolved 
that  such  should  be  his  doom.  For  hours — until  the 
midnight  came  with  its  sad  and  drooping  stars,  looking 
down  mournfully  upon  the  billows  of  the  ever-chiding 
ocean — until  the  daylight  dawned,  and  the  red  sun, 
rushing  up  from  the  eastern  waters,  rose  angry  and 


220  THE  MAROON; 

fiery,  and  blazing  down  upon  the  little  islet  with  the 
fiery  glance  of  a  destroying  despot; — for  the  first  dreary 
interval,  from  sun  to  sun — he  still  cherished  the  hope 
that  this  was  but  a  trial  of  his  strength — a  cruel  ex- 
periment upon  his  youth  and  courage; — and,  recover- 
ing from  the  first  feelings  of  consternation,  when,  at 
sunset,  the  dusky  white  sails  of  the  vessel  finally  dis- 
appeared from  sight,  the  unhappy  wretch  still  flattered 
himself  that,  with  the  morning,  he  should  hail  her 
outline  once  more  upon  his  horizon,  and  catch  the 
glitter  of  her  foaming  prow  coming  to  his  rescue.  And 
with  this  hope  he  clung  to  the  beach  all  night.  He 
slept  not — how  could  he  sleep?  Even  for  one  night, 
how  intense  was  the  desolation  of  that  scene.  There 
was  the  eternal  sighing  and  moaning  of  the  sea,  which, 
toward  the  morning,  subsided  into  calm  and  slept  on, 
as  if  still  dreaming  of  future  tempests.  And  there 
were  voices  all  around  him  of  strange  animals  and 
wild-fowl — sometimes  a  chirp,  as  of  an  insect,  and 
sometimes  the  scream  of  some  passionate  bird ; — and, 
anon,  a  great  plunge  in  the  waters,  as  if  of  some 
mighty  beast  leaving  its  place  of  sleep  upon  the  land. 
It  was  among  the  misfortunes  of  Lopez  de  Levya  that 
he  was  no  hero,  and  all  these  sounds  inspired  him  with 
terror.  Not  less  terrible  to  him  were  those  wild,  deep 
mysterious  eyes  of  the  stars,  slowly  passing  over  him, 
and  looking  down,  as  if  to  see  whether  he  slept,  in 
their  passage  to  the  deep.  Never  was  night  and  situ- 
ation so  full  of  charm,  yet  so  full  of  the  awful  and  the 
terrible.  Beautiful,  indeed,  surpassingly  beautiful  and 
sweet,  was  the  strange  wild  charm  of  that  highly 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        221 

spiritual  mingling  of  land  and  ocean ; — that  small  and 
lovely  islet,  just  rising  above  the  deep,  so  thoroughly 
environed  by  its  rocking  billows,  shone  upon  by  that 
wilderness  of  stars ;  breathed  over  by  that  pure  zephyr, 
gilding  it  with  perfume  and  blessing  from  the  South; 
and  haunted  by  unknown  sounds,  from  strange  crea- 
tures of  the  sea  and  sky,  who,  in  a  life  of  perpetual 
freedom,  could  never  know  the  feeling  of  desolation 
or  of  exile. 

But  the  wild  romance  and  the  wondrous  beauty  of 
the  scene  were  lost  upon  the  man  who  had  no  higher 
idea  of  the  possession  of  the  intellectual  nature  than 
such  as  could  be  drawn  from  association  with  his  fellow. 
The  region,  unoccupied  by  man,  however  beautiful  in 
itself,  could  bring  no  joy,  no  peace  to  the  bosom  of  the 
exile.  Velasquez  knew  the  real  nature  of  his  victim. 
He  well  knew  that  Lopez  had  no  sympathy  with  the 
mute  existences  of  sea  and  sky,  of  earth  and  air ;  and 
of  those  more  exquisite  essences,  which,  in  such  a 
situation,  the  imaginative  nature  would  have  joyed  to 
conjure  up  from  the  spiritual  world,  he  thought  only 
with  terror  and  reluctance.  He  did  fancy  that  voices 
came  to  him  upon  the  night  air  ; — the  voices  of  men, 
and  in  a  strange,  unusual  language; — and  he  instantly 
trembled  with  fears  of  the  cannibal — the  anthropo- 
phagi, who  were  supposed,  at  that  period,  to  be  the 
only  inhabitants  of  these  regions. 

But  the  night  passed  over  in  security.     He  opened 

his  eyes  upon  another  day,  in  the  solitude  of  that 

wild  abode,  ere  yet  the  sun  had  warmed  with  his  gay 

tints  the  gray  mansions  of  the  East.     He  opened  his 

19* 


222  THE  MAROON; 

eyes  upon  the  sea  and  sky  as  before.  The  billows 
were  rolling  slowly  away  at  his  feet,  in  long  low 
courses,  but  slightly  lifted  by  the  breezes  of  the 
dawn.  Vainly  were  his  eyes  stretched  out  over  the 
watery  waste,  in  the  pathway  of  the  departed  vessel. 
The  vast  plain  of  ocean  spread  away  before  him  un- 
broken by  a  speck ;  and  when  the  sun  rushed  up 
visibly  into  the  heavens,  and  laid  bare  the  whole 
bright  circumference  of  the  deep,  for  many  a  league, 
undarkened  by  an  object,  then  the  conviction  of  his 
utter  loneliness — his  life  of  future  loneliness — forced 
itself  upon  the  heart  of  the  wretched  youth;  and 
flinging  himself  once  more  upon  the  earth,  he  thrust 
his  fingers  into  the  sands,  and  cried  aloud  in  the  depth 
of  his  agony — 

"  Jesu !  it  is  true  ! — it  is  true  ! — and  I  am  left — 
left  by  my  people — to  perish  here  alone  !" 

We  spare  his  lamentations — his  entreaties — as  if 
there  were  still  some  human  being  at  hand  who  might 
afford  him  relief  and  consolation — to  whom  he  might 
appeal  for  succor  and  protection.  Prayer  he  had 
none.  The  name  of  the  Deity,  of  the  Saviour,  and 
the  Virgin,  were  sometimes  upon  his  lips ;  but  the 
utterance  was  habitual,  as  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
employ  them  in  mere  idleness  and  indifference.  Three 
days  passed,  in  which  despair  had  full  possession  of 
his  faculties.  In  this  time  he  lay  crouching  upon  the 
beach  during  the  day,  and  gazing  vacantly  in  the 
direction  in  which  the  ship  had  gone.  At  night,  he 
retreated  to  higher  ground,  filled  with  apprehensions 
of  great  monsters  of  the  sea — of  the  seas  themselves 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        223 

— lest,  rising  suddenly,  endued  with  a  human  or  a 
fiendish  will,  they  might  gather  round  him  while  he 
slept,  and  hurry  him  off,  beyond  escape,  to  their 
gloomy  abysses.  A  small  clump  of  trees  afforded  him 
the  semblance  of  a  shelter.  Here  he  lay,  from  night- 
fall to  dawn,  only  sleeping  in  the  utter  exhaustion  of 
nature,  and  suffering,  at  all  other  times,  from  every 
sort  of  terror.  The  stars,  looking  down  through  the 
palm-leaves  overhead,  with  their,  mild,  sad  aspects, 
seemed  to  him  so  many  mocking  and  malignant  angels 
exulting  in  his  condition.  The  moaning  of"  the  sea, 
and  the  murmurs  of  the  nightwind,  were  all  so  many 
voices  of  terror  appointed  to  deride  him  in  his  desola- 
tion, and  impress  his  heart  with  a  sense  of  unknown 
dangers.  The  rush  of  great  wings  occasionally  along 
the  shore,  or  the  rustle  of  smaller  ones  in  the  boughs 
above  him — perhaps  of  creatures  as  timid  as  himself 
— kept  him  wakeful  with  constant  apprehensions  ; 
and,  at  moments  of  the  midnight,  a  terrible  bellowing, 
as  of  some  sea-beast  rising  to  the  shore,  or  leaving  it 
with  a  plunge  that  echoed  throughout  the  islet — struck 
a  very  palsy  to  his  heart,  that,  for  the  time,  seemed 
to  silence  all  its  vibrations.  Let  us  leave  the  misera- 
ble outcast,  thus  suffering  and  apprehensive,  while  we 
return  to  the  inmates  of  the  vessel  by  which  he  was 
abandoned. 


224  THE  MAROON; 


CHAPTER    VI. 

HE  was  not  wholly  abandoned.  Maria  de  Pacheco, 
the  woman,  who,  like  himself,  was  in  some  degree  a 
victim  also  to  the  will,  if  not  the  tyranny,  of  Don 
Velasquez,  wTas  not  the  creature  tamely  to  submit  to 
injustice,  however  she  might  prudently  seem  to  do  so. 
— We  need  not  ask  whether  there  was  any  real  attach- 
ment between  herself  and  the  poor  creature  whom  we 
have  seen  "marooned."  It  is  probable  that  the  degree 
of  regard  which  she  entertained  for  him  was  small. 
He  was  not  the  man  to  fix  the  affections,  to  a  very 
large  extent,  of  a  woman  of  so  proud  and  fearless  a 
soul.  The  feebleness  which  he  had  shown  had,  pro- 
bably, lessened  the  attachment  of  a  heart,  which,  in 
the  possession  of  large  natural  courage  of  its  own, 
might  well  despise  that  of  one  who  had  displayed  so 
little.  But  as  little  did  she  love  the  man  of  whom  she 
had  become  the  slave — we  may  add — almost  without 
her  own  consciousness,  and  at  the  will  of  another,  by 
whom  she  had  been  sold  at  a  very  early  age.  She 
was  still  comparatively  young ;  but  with  advanced 
intellect,  and  an  experience  that  left  it  no  longer  im- 
mature. Born  under  the  burning  sky  of  Andalusia, 
tutored  in  the  camp  of  the  Gitano,  though  not  of 
Zingaro  race,  she  had  soon  acquired  an  intensity  of 
mood  which  was  only  surpassed  by  her  capacity  of 
subduing  it  to  quiet,  under  a  rigid  and  controlling 
will. — Loathing  the  sway  of  her  tyrant,  revolting  at 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        225 

his  person,  she  was  as  little  disposed  to  regard  with 
favor  the  affections  which  had  been  proffered  her,  of 
his  more  subtle  and  malignant  nephew.  The  person 
of  Juan  de  Silva,  graceful  and  showy  as  it  was,  could 
not  blind  her  to  his  heartless  vanities,  and  that  dan- 
gerous cunning  of  character,  which  so  admirably 
co-operated  with  the  mocking  and  fiendish  coldness  of 
his  soul.  If  she  loathed  Velasquez,  she  feared,  as 
well  as  loathed,  De  Silva ;  and  feared  him  the  more, 
as,  in  possession  of  the  secret  of  his  infidelity  to  his 
uncle,  she  was  yet  made  fully  conscious  of  the  truth 
of  his  boast,  that  any  revelation  of  it,  which  she 
might  make  to  the  latter,  would  avail  but  little  against 
him.  But,  though  anxious,  she  was  not  the  woman  to 
despair  !  She  revolted  too  greatly  at  her  own  condi- 
tion of  restraint,  bondage,  and  denial,  to  yield  even 
temporarily  to  despondency.  In  the  moment  that  saw 
her  feeble  and  wretched  lover  consigned  to  the  lonely 
islet  of  the  Caribbees,  she  made  a  secret  resolve  to 
avenge  his  fate,  or  to  peril  her  own  person  upon  her 
vengeance.  She  clearly  had  no  absorbing  passion  for 
the  victim.  It  was  evident  that  she  could  still  main- 
tain a  prudent  restraint  upon  her  feelings  at  the 
moment  of  their  greatest  trial ; — but  the  highest  and 
proudest  heart  needs  something  for  affection — some 
other  one  upon  which  to  lean  for  sympathy — and 
which,  at  least,  makes  a  show  of  responsive  interest 
in  its  affections.  It  was  thus  that  she  had  turned  a 
willing  ear  to  the  professed  devotion  of  Lopez  de 
Levya — to  his  tastes  and  his  gentleness,  contrasting 
as  they  did  with  the  brutality  of  all  around  her,  and 


226  THE  MAROON; 

making  her  somewhat  indifferent  to  his  feebleness  of 
will  and  lack  of  courage.  But  she  had  not  fancied 
his  imbecility  tabe^so  great  as  the  hour  of  trial  had 
shown  it.  Though  scorning  his  weakness,  she  sym- 
pathized in  his  cruel  destiny.  The  respite  which  had 
been  given  him  from  death,  by  the  capricious  tyranny 
of  Velasquez,  suggested  to  her  mind  a  hope  of  his 
future  extrication.  Food  had  been  left  with  him  suffi- 
cient for  a  month.  What  might  not  be  done,  in  that 
space  of  time,  by  a  subtle  thought  and  a  determined 
spirit  ?  In  a  moment,  Maria  de  Pacheco  had  her 
plans  conceived,  and  her  soul  nerved  to  .the  prosecu- 
tion of  a  single  purpose.  But  she  had  an  opponent, 
not  less  subtle  than  herself,  in  the  person  of  Juan  de 
Silva ;  and  the  keen,  scrutinizing  eye  which  he  fixed 
upon  her,  as  she  turned  from  the  spot  upon  which 
Lopez  had  been  left,  seemed  to  denote  an  indistinct 
conception  of  the  purpose  which  had  passed  that  very 
instant  through  her  soul.  But  she  was  not  dis- 
couraged by  his  fear. 

"Well,"  said  he,  in  a  whisper,  "you  see  how  hope- 
less is  the  struggle! — What  is  left  for  you,  but — " 
and  a  smile  of  mixed  fondness  and  significance  closed 
the  sentence.  The  ready  expression  of  the  woman's 
face  was  made  to  accord  happily  with  the  single  word 
with  which  she  furnished  an  equally  expressive  con- 
clusion— 

"De^ith!" 

"No,  no  !"  said  he.  "You  will  not  die  ;  you  shall 
not !  You  shall  live  to  be  far  more  trulv  the  mistress 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CA11IBBEES.  227 

of  the  Dian  de  Burgos,  than  she  finds  you  now.  Why 
should  we  be  enemies,  Maria  ?" 

;<  Beware  !  your  uncle's  eye  is  upon  us  !" 

He  turned  away,  and  this  single  sentence,  as  it 
seemed  to  denote  a  disposition  to  make  a  secret  be- 
tween them,  brought  a  fresh  hope  to  the  soul  of  the 
young  man.  He  smiled,  and  glided  to  his  uncle. 
Maria  smiled  also,  but  it  was  with  a  sterner  feeling — 
not  a  less  hopeful  one,  perhaps,  but  one  in  which 
bitterness  was  a  much  more  positive  ingredient  than 
delight. 

"I  must  baffle  his  vigilance,"  she  muttered  to  her- 
self. "  He  only  need  be  feared,  and  he  must  be  met 
and  vanquished !  Ay !  but  how !  How !  I  must 
manage  this — and  I  will!" 

Her  eyes  followed  his  retreating  form  as  she  spoke. 
They  noted  quickly  the  jaunty  air  of  self-conceit  which 
marked  his  movements  ;  they  scorned  the  showy  and 
quaintly-cut  garments  which  he  wore,  and  the  profuse 
decorations  of  his  neck  and  breast — and  the  quick  in- 
stincts of  the  woman  at  once  suggested  an  answer  to 
her  doubts. 

"  How,  but  through  his  vanity !  He  would  be 
loved,  as  he  would  be  admired  and  watched.  Well ! 
— he  shall  be  loved,  loved  as  he  desires  !  The  task  is 
a  hard  one  enough,  truly — but  it  shall  be  done  !  Juan 
de  Silva,  you  shall  be  loved!  You,  at  least,  shall  be- 
lieve it — you  will  believe  it ;  and  this  will  suffice  !" 

In  this  she  expressed  a  portion  of  her  policy.  It 
will  be  all  that  we  need  to  show  at  present.  How  she 
pursued  this  policy — by  what  constant,  hourly  prac- 


228  THE  MAROON; 

tices — by  what  adroit  feminine  arts — and  with  what 
fixedness  of  purpose — need  only  be  suggested.  The 
details  would  be  too  numerous.  But  she  was  encour- 
aged to  perseverance  by  success.  She  had  reason  to 
believe  that  she  had  succeeded  in  disarming  the  jea- 
lousies, and  in  awakening  the  hopes,  of  her  enemy. 
They  both  maintained  a  judicious  regard  for  the  ex- 
actions of  Velasquez ;  but  there  were  hours  when  he 
slept,  or  when  he  suffered,  when  they  might  throw 
aside  their  caution,  and  speak  together  without  fear 
or  interruption.  It  is  by  no  means  strange  that  the 
most  artful  should  be  imposed  upon  by  arts  such  as  he 
himself  employs.  But  what  is  so  blind  as  vanity  ? 
What  creature  so  easily  baited  as  the  self-worshipper, 
when  the  food  tendered  him  is  that  which  increases 
his  love  of  self.  To  make  such  a  one  satisfied  with 
himself,  is  most  surely  to  gain  his  confidence  in  you 
— to  persuade  him  that  he  is  as  much  an  object  of 
your  idolatry  as  of  his  own,  is  to  obtain  access  to  the 
few  open  avenues  which  conduct  to  his  affections. 

Maria  de  Pacheco  had  not  been  vainly  tutored  in 
the  arts  of  the  Gritano.  Beautiful  in  person,  graceful 
in  carriage,  skilled  equally  in  the  song,  the  dance,  and 
the  story,  she  put  in  exercise  all  her  powers  of  attrac- 
tion, to  bind  more  securely  the  spells  which  she  aimed 
to  put  upon  the  creature  whom  she  yet  loathed  with 
most  complete  aversion.  In  two  weeks  after  "the 
marooning"  of  her  timid  lover,  she  had  succeeded  in 
possessing  Juan  de  Silva  with  the  notion  that  the  vic- 
tim ceased  to  be  remembered.  So  credulous  do  the 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        229 

most  vigilant  and  suspicious  become,  when  blinded  by 
an  absorbing  passion. 

The  two  were  alone  together  on  the  vessel's  deck, 
as  she  swept,  one  gloomy  night,  along  the  waste  of 
sea  in  silence.  Don  Velasquez  had  but  a  little  before 
been  conveyed  below.  He  slept !  Maria  had  ministered 
to  him  in  song  and  story  as  was  her  wont,  with  Juan 
beside  her.  The  departure  of  Velasquez  had  left  them 
free  to  resume  a  conversation  which  had  been  begun 
before.  He  had  been  emboldened  by  the  tenor  of  a 
previous  dialogue.  His  hand  grasped  that  of  the  lady. 
She  suffered  him  to  retain  it.  He  carried  it  to  his 
lips.  It  was  not  withdrawn ;  but,  could  her  features 
have  been  seen,  through  the  dim  veil  of  night  which 
covered  them,  the  infatuated  youth  beside  her,  blind- 
ed by  her  charms,  and  beguiled  by  her  arts,  would 
have  shrunk  with  fear  from  the  deep  and  vindictive 
loathing  which  they  betrayed,  even  while  she  submit- 
ted so  quietly  to  his  caresses.  The  secret  thought  of 
Juan  de  Silva  was  one  of  delighted  vanity.  Could 
that  thought  but  have  found  its  way  into  speech,  it 
would  have  congratulated  himself  upon  the  admirable 
address  which  he  himself  had  shown,  in  subduing  a 
spirit  which  he  had  hitherto  found  invincible.  He  did 
suffer  some  words  to  escape  him  which  conveyed  to 
her  mind  this  idea ;  and  she  compressed  her  lips  more 
closely  together,  with  difficulty  maintaining  -  the 
silence,  which,  if  broken  at  that  moment,  would  have 
overwhelmed  him  with  her  loathing  and  her  scorn. 

"You  have  forgiven  me  all,  Maria?"  he  whispered 
tenderly,  fully  assured  of  her  answer. 
20 


230  THE  MAROON; 

"What  was  there  to  be  forgiven?" 

"The  fate  of  Lopez  !" 

A  slight  convulsive  shiver  passed  over  the  form  of 
the  woman,  and  it  required  a  strong  effort  to  keep 
from  withdrawing  herself  from  his  embrace,  with  a 
show  of  horror  such  as  one  might  express  in  detaching 
himself  from  the  folds  of  a  serpent.  He  continued — 

"But  it  was  in  my  devotion  that  I  sought  to  destroy. 
It  was  because  you  were  so  loved,  that  he  was  so  much 
hated.  I  was  well  assured  that,  for  so  mean  a  spirit, 
you  could  not  long  have  suffered  pain;  and  now — " 

"You  were  right,"  she  said,  interrupting  him ; 
"right;  but  you — what  is  your  spirit,  Juan?" 

"My  spirit?" 

"  Yes,  your  spirit !  your  courage,  your  pride,  your 
character?  Your  person  is  pleasing  to  the  eye — 
your  talents  to  the  mind !  You  have  grace,  beauty, 
and  accomplishments,  but — " 

"But  what?" 

The  vanity  of  the  youth  had  taken  the  alarm.  He 
spoke  eagerly  and  with  anxiety.  She  hesitated  to 
reply,  the  better  to  increase  this  anxiety;  and  he 
renewed  his  entreaties  for  explanation.  She  at  length 
gave  it. 

"  Shall  I  always  be  loved  by  the  subordinate  ?  Shall 
the  person  whom  I  love,  be  always  the  creature  of  an- 
other's will  ?" 

"  You  mistake,  my  Maria.  You  should  know,  by 
this  time,  that  I  can  do  what  I  please  with  my  uncle." 

"Why,  so  you  may;  but  in  what  manner  is  it  done? 
By  treachery — by  falsehood — by  meanness — by  de- 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        231 

scending  to  low  arts  and  petty  falsehoods.  Let  the 
truth  but  reach  the  ears  of  Velasquez,  and  he  will  ma- 
roon you  as  quickly  as  he  did  Lopez  de  Levya." 

"Perhaps  so;  but  there's  no  reason  that  the  truth 
shall  reach  his  ears?" 

"That  may  be;  but  shall  we  live  always  in  terror  of 
the  truth — always  in  the  base  security  of  a  lie.  I  tell 
you,  Juan  de  Silva,  such  is  my  spirit,  that  I  demand, 
in  the  object  of  my  devotion,  manliness  of  soul — the 
courage  of  speech  without  fear — the  spirit  to  act  with- 
out subterfuge — the  will  to  command  for  himself,  and 
through  himself,  and  not  as  the  mere  creature  of  an- 
other !  And,  why  should  you,  with  your  talents  for  com- 
mand— why  should  you  be  the  lackey  of  your  uncle? 
— that  feeble  despot,  who — but  no,  no ! — what  need  ? 
You  will  not,  you  cannot  understand  the  nature  which 
I  feel — the  spirit  which  sways  sovereign  in  my  soul!" 

"  Ay,  Maria,  but  I  do  feel,  I  do  understand  you." 

"  Impossible,  Juan,  or  you  would  rather  be  with  me 
the  sole  possessor  of  some  desolate  isle,  such  as  that 
given  to  Lopez  de  Levya,  than — " 

"  But  how,  if  we  be  sole  here — here,  with  the 
lovely  Dian  de  Burgos  for  our  palace,  and  the  seas  of 
the  west  for  our  empire?" 

She  laid  her  finger  upon  her  wrist — but  a  single 
finger — and  lowly  murmured  in  his  ears— 

"  This  were,  indeed,  something ;  but  I  tell  you, 
Juan  de  Silva,  you  are  not  the  man  for  this.  Your 
uncle!—" 

"And  if  I  prove  to  you  that  I  am,  Maria;  if  I 
show  you  that  I  can  fling  aside  my  scruples  when  it 


232  THE  MAROON; 


serv§  my  purpose  to  do  so  ;  and  that  no  ties 
which  deny  me  the  gratification  of  my  passions,  have 
the  power  to  keep  my  affections  ;  if  in  short,  I  can 
say  to  you,  Maria  de  Pacheco,  the  Dian  de  Burgos, 
henceforward,  is  mine  solely,  wilt  thou  share  with  me 
the  sovereignty?" 

"  Alas  !  Juan,  I  should  dread  lest  old  age  seize  me, 
ere  I  ascend  my  throne  1" 

"Demonios!  but  another  week  shall  not  pass  ere 
thou  hast  it  all  1" 

"Were  it  so!  —  but  —  "  The  pause  was  full  of 
meaning. 

"  Wilt  thou  promise  me,  Maria  !  —  " 

"Will  I  not?" 

"  And  thou  wilt  deny  me  no  more,  if  I  show  thee 
that  no  voice  speaks  in  authority  here  but  mine  ?" 

"  Show  me  that,  Juan  —  make  thyself  supreme,  and 
thou  shalt  be  as  a  sovereign  over  Maria  de  Pacheco, 
as  thou  wilt  then  be  over  the  Dian  de  Burgos.  But 
thy  uncle  ?" 

"  Speak  not  of  him  !  Enough  !  —  Thinkest  thou  I 
love  this  servitude  any  more  than  thou  dost  ?  Thinkest 
thou  it  better  pleases  me  than  thee  that  I  should  mi- 
nister to  one,  brutal  and  bedridden,  whose  feebleness 
checks  our  adventure  and  lessens  our  spoils  ?" 

"But  how  wilt  thou"— 

"  Nay,  sweet,  let  not  the  manner  of  the  thing  dis- 
turb thee.  Better,  indeed,  that  thou  shouldst  not 
know.  Thou  shalt  see  if  I  lack  manliness.  Thou 
shalt  see  if  I  fail  when  the  moment  needs.  I  am  no 
Lopez  de  Levya  —  no  mere  singer,  my  Maria.  Ah  ! 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        233 

if  I  prove  not  myself  worthy  of  thy  spirit — if  I  show 
thee  not !  Thou  didst  not  know  me,  Maria — thou 
doubtest  still — thou  dost  not  know  me  yet.  Yes,  I 
tell  thee,  for  a  love  such  as  thou  canst  give  me,  thou 
shalt  see  me  do  such  deeds  as  were  terrible  as  death 
to  other  men  !" 

The  unresisting  hand  of  the  woman  was  carried  to 
his  lips  as  he  spoke,  as  if  he  would  affirm  thereon  the 
resolution  which  he  had  expressed.  Yet  even  as  he 
kissed  them,  her  fingers,  moved  by  the  feeling  in  her 
soul,  could  have  grappled  his  throat  in  mortal  struggle. 
They  separated  for  the  night,  and  the  exulting  spirit 
of  Maria  declared  her  conscious  triumph  in  secret 
soliloquy. 

"Ay,  ay!  methinks  I  have  thee.  It  is  sure.  I 
do  not  mistake  the  blindness  which  is  in  this  passion, 
He  will  do  !  He  will  perform  what  he  doth  not  yet 
promise.  The  son  of  the  sister  shall  do  murder  upon 
the  life  of  the  brother  that  has  murdered  him.  He 
is  mine  !  The  Dian  de  Burgos  shall  be  mine.  Yet, 
it  will  need  that  it  be  done  quickly.  The  month  is 
nearly  gone  !  Another  week  ! — but  one — one  week ! 
Well !  I  must  be  patient.  I  must  subdue  my  soul, 
while  I  work  with  other  weapons.  Juan  de  Silva,  I 
shall  take  thee  in  my  own  snare,  or  I  have  never 
used  the  snare  of  woman  !" 


20* 


234  THE  MAROON; 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WITH  her  whole  soul  set  upon  a  favorite  project, 
Maria  de  Pacheco  was  not  a  person  to  slumber  or 
prove  afraid.  She  was  not  less  sure  of  herself  than 
of  others.  She  knew  the  general  character  and  tem- 
per of  the  Spaniard.  She  knew  the  spirit  which 
prevailed  among  the  crew  of  the  Dian  de  Burgos. 
Though  young,  and  a  woman,  she  had  been  b j  no  means 
an  unobservant  spectator  of  the  various  events  which 
had  taken  place  on  board  since  she  had  become  an 
inmate  of  the  vessel.  Besides,  she  was  a  sagacious 
student  of  character,  as  are  all  women  of  any  native 
intelligence.  She  possessed  the  faculty,  which  seems 
like  an  instinct,  of  seeing,  as  it  were,  at  a  single 
glance,  into  the  moods  of  those  around  her.  She 
knew  that  Velasquez,  her  master,  was  no  longer  the 
master  in  his  own  ship.  She  as  well  knew  that  Juan 
de  Silva  was  not  very  popular  as  his  successor.  One 
event,  which  had  taken  place  a  few  months  before, 
now  pressed  upon  her  recollection,  and  suggested  to 
her  a  new  auxiliary  in  working  out  her  scheme. 

One  of  the  lieutenants,  or  as  he  might  be  called  in 
our  time,  a  mate,  was  a  Biscayan,  named  Diego 
Linares.  He  was  a  stout  and  somewhat  surly  fellow, 
habitually;  and,  in  the  exercise  of  his  common 
character,  had  given  a  rude  or  insolent  reply  to  Juan 
de  Silva,  who  had  rewarded  him  for  it,  very  promptly, 
with  a  blow  upon  the  mouth.  The  dagger  of  the 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        235 

Biscayan  would  have  answered  the  indignity,  and  was 
drawn  for  that  purpose,  when  other  parties  interfered; 
and  Juan,  after  the  first  feeling  of  excitement  had 
passed  over,  sought  in  various  ways,  and  by  various 
civilities — which  he  never  made  unnecessarily  cheap 
— to  atone  for  the  rashness  and  folly  of  his  act.  The 
interposition  of  Velasquez,  himself,  was  finally  ad- 
dressed to  the  conciliation  of  the  parties,  since  Diego 
was  a  man  not  easily  to  be  dispensed  with.  His 
efforts  were  apparently  successful.  The  anger  of  the 
Biscayan  was  seemingly  subdued,  but  it  was  in  seeming 
only.  The  wound  still  rankled,  and  might  easily  be 
reopened.  Maria  de  Pacheco  saw  more  deeply  into 
the  secret  feelings  of  the  injured  person  than  either 
Juan  or  Velasquez.  She  better  knew  the  vindictive 
temper  of  Biscayan  blood,  which  is  perhaps  much  more 
tenacious  of  its  resentments  than  that  of  almost  all 
other  Spaniards,  all  of  whom  are  vindictive. 

With  the  first  inception  of  her  own  resolution,  she 
at  once  conceived  that  this  resentment  might  serve 
her  purpose  hereafter,  and  had,  accordingly,  some 
time  before,  addressed  herself  to  the  task  of  making 
a  friend  of  the  discontent.  She  sought  him  at  periods 
when  the  eyes  of  Juan  were  withdrawn  from  her. 
She  sought  him  with  an  art  which  none  possess  in  any 
degree  to  compare  with  her  who  has  been  tutored  in 
the  camp  of  the  Zingali.  She  knew  the  habits  of  the 
Biscayan,  could  rejoice  his  ear  with  songs  and  ballads 
from  the  native  province  of  Diego  ;  and  frequently, 
even  when  she  sang  before  Velasquez,  she  adroitly 
chose  for  her  themes  such  as  were  familiar  to  the  ears 


236  THE  MAROON; 

of  the  former.  These  still  drew  him,  loitering  nigh, 
to  listen  as  he  traversed  the  deck  upon  his  midnight 
watch.  Gradually,  the  parties  came  to  speak  together, 
and,  by  degrees  just  as  insensible  as  those  by  which 
she  had  brought  Juan  de  Silva  to  believe  in  her  newly- 
born  affections  for  himself,  she  found  her  way  into  the 
confidence  of  Linares  for  another  purpose.  She  fo- 
mented his  hate  for  Juan ;  and,  at  length,  when  sure 
of  the  future  purpose  of  the  latter,  she  kindled  the 
other's  fears  for  the  safety  of  Velasquez.  It  would 
have  been  easy  to  arouse  Linares  to  such  a  degree  of 
fury,  as  to  prompt  him  to  rush  upon  and  slay  Juan, 
with  the  hope,  subsequently,  of  justifying  himself 
before  Velasquez ;  and  such  was  the  wish  of  Diego ; 
— but  the  more  vigilant  woman  saw  how  futile  such  a 
proceeding  would  be,  knowing  how  completely  Juan 
was  in  the  possession  of  his  uncle's  confidence.  Be- 
sides, of  what  use  to  her,  in  her  desire  to  rescue 
Lopez  de  Levya,  that  Velasquez  should  escape  the 
design  of  his  nephew  ? 

"  No,  no !  good  Diego,"  she  said  to  the  excited 
Biscayan  ;  "  this  were  only  to  destroy  thyself.  Would 
Velasquez  believe  either  thy  testimony  or  mine 
against  Juan  de  Silva  ?  Thou  mightest  slay  the  one, 
but  thou  wouldst  be  sure  to  perish  from  the  fury  of 
the  other." 

"I  know  not — the  crew  ! — " 

"  Soft !  I  understand  thee  !  It  is  well  that  the  men 
love  thee.  They  should  !  Thou,  in  truth,  dost  all  the 
business  of  the  vessel — Velasquez  incapable,  and  Juan 
de  Silva  no  seaman,  and,  I  trow,  but  little  of  a 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  287 

soldier.  Let,  then,  the  treachery  advance  which  thou 
canst  not  arrest,  save  at  thy  own  peril.  It  may  be 
that  Juan  will  repent — that  he  will  not  do  the  bloody 
deed  which  he  meditates.  All  then  will  be  as  before, 
and  our  secret  suspicions  may  sleep.  But  it  will  be 
enough  that  we  should  keep  proper  watch,  and  if  thou 
hast  friends  in  the  vessel — " 

She  paused. 

"  They  are  all  my  friends  ;  they  care  nothing  for 
Velasquez,  now  that  he  can  do  nothing ;  and  they  hate 
the  insolence  of  this  Juan  !" 

"  Good ! — then  there  will  only  need,  if  thou  hast 
friends,  that  thou  choose  from  among  them,  so  that 
two  or  three  of  them  may  be  ready  with  thyself  to 
avenge  thy  captain  should  he  meet  foul  play.  Be 
ready,  and  I  will  counsel  thee,  should  I  see  farther 
tokens  of  this  conspiracy. 

The  Biscayan  was  not  superior  to  the  inducements 
which  she  had  adroitly  insinuated  rather  than  expressed. 
He  was  made  to  behold,  at  the  same  glance,  his  revenge 
obtained  upon  the  man  who  had  subjected  him  to  in- 
dignity, and  the  promotion  of  his  selfish  fortunes. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MARIA  had  thus  secured  a  second  agent,  and 
made  a  large  step  toward  the  attainment  of  her 
object.  But  the  days  passed,  and  the  nights  followed, 
and  still  nothing  decisive,  on  the  part  of  Juan,  tended 


238  THE  MAROON; 

to  confirm  the  assurances  which  he  had  made  to  his 
wily  confederate.  She  became  anxious  and  appre- 
hensive, particularly  as  the  passion  of  the  youth 
seemed  to  be  cooling  toward  her.  He  was  no  longer 
communicative — no  longer  sought  her  as  frequently  as 
before.  His  manner  was  now  hesitating,  his  brow 
clouded,  and  his  whole  appearance  that  of  a  man  who 
was  brooding  over  wild  suspicions.  But  Maria  was 
too  much  an  adept  to  suffer  her  own  anxieties  to  be 
perceptible,  while  she  watched  his  with  apprehension. 
Her  doubts  put  on  the  appearance  of  womanly  reserve, 
of  dignified  pride,  of  feminine  sensibility,  solicitous  to 
avoid  exposure.  But  she  was  equally  studious  not  to  fore- 
go the  exercise  of  any,  the  meanest  of  her  attractions. 
Her  dress  was  carefully  studied,  and  with  the  happiest 
effect ;  and  if  her  brow  was  clouded,  it  was  with  sad- 
ness, the  sweeter  for  the  shade.  She  sang  too — 
never  with  more  exquisite  freedom,  or  with  more  volup- 
tuous sensibility,  than  when  she  sat  alone,  in  the 
darkness  of  night,  upon  the  deck  of  the  slowly  moving 
vessel.  This  was  the  third  night  after  the  last  inter- 
view, which  we  have  described,  with  Linares.  She 
was  suddenly  joined  by  Juan  de  Silva.  She  knew  of 
his  approach,  but  started  with  well-feigned  surprise, 
as  his  whisper  reached  her  ears. 

"Thou  hast  thought  me  a  laggard,  Maria?" 

"  Nay,  I  have  suffered  no  disappointment.  I  had 
no  hopes  of  thee,  Juan  !" 

He  was  piqued. 

"  That  was  because  thou  didst  not  know  me.     But 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  239 

I  have  been  busy  in  my  task.  It  is  not  because  I  am 
irresolute  that  I  am  slow.  It  is  because  I  would  be 
sure.  It  is  not  known  to  thee,  perhaps,  that  Velasquez 
hath  valuable  possessions  in  Spain.  These  will  serve 
us  hereafter,  my  Maria,  when  we  shall  tire  of  the  sea. 
I  have  secured  the  papers  which  conduct  to  these. 
The  key  of  his  coffers  is  at  my  girdle.  And  now — 
but,  hark  thee — continue  thy  ballad.  It  has  beguiled 
his  fancies,  and  he  is  about  to  join  us  to  be  nearer 
thee.  There !  His  bell  sounds.  I  will  bring  him 
forth,  and — dost  thou  heed  me,  Maria?" 

His  hand  trembled  with  an  icy  dullness,  as  he  laid 
it  upon  her  wrist.  Her  own  grew  chilled  with  a 
sympathetic  consciousness  of  what  he  designed. 

"  Thy  song !  Thy  ballad !"  he  muttered  convul- 
sively as  he  left  her,  and,  almost  unconscious  of  what 
she  did,  she  resumed,  in  accents  that  slightly  faltered, 
the  ballad  of  'Belerma,'  one  of  her  favorite  songs, 
which  she  had  probably  learned  from  a  purer  source 
than  that  of  the  Zingali  camp. 

"  Quando  vio  aquel  corazon 

Estando  fen  el  contemplado, 
De  nuevas  gotas  de  sangre 
/        Estaba  todo  banado." 

Which  may  be  thus  freely  rendered : — 

"When  the  precious  heart  before  her 

Lay  all  open  to  her  view, 
As  if  conscious  of  her  presence, 
It  began  to  bleed  anew." 

The  voice  of  Velasquez — a  voice  that  had  once  been 
equally  rich  and  powerful — now  feebly  joined  its 


240  THE  MAROON; 

accents  with  hers,  as  he  tottered  forth  from  the  cabin, 
supporteoon  the  arm  of  his  nephew,  and  sank  into  a 
seat  which  had  been  prepared  beside  her.  Her  tones 
subsided  into  silence  as  he  approached. 

"Nay,  stop  not,"  said  he;  "let  me  hear  thee — I 
come  out  only  to  hear  thee,  for  I  feel  not  so  well  to- 
night— not  well,  not  happy,  Maria,  mine.  Thy  voice 
will  persuade  me  to  a  better  spirit,  though  it  sounds 
more  sadly  than  is  thy  wont  to-night ;  and  that  bal- 
lad— methinks,  beauty,  mine,  thou  wouldst  never 
grieve  over  my  heart,  as  the  lovely  damsel,  Belerma, 
mourned  over  that  of  Durandarte."  And  he  sang 
feebly — 

"  Corazon  de  mi  senor, 

Durandarte  muy  preciado, 
En  los  amores  dichoso, 
Yenbatallas  desdichado." 

She  continued  silent. 

"  Sing  for  me,  Maria — deny  me  not ;"  he  said  en- 
treatingly.  "  I  know  not  that  I  shall  ever  ask  it  of 
thee  again.  I  feel  as  if  a  sentence  had  gone  forth 
upon  me.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  done  thee  wrong  !  My 
heart  tells  me  that  I  have  wronged  thee.  If  thou 
wilt  sing  for  me  now,  I  know  that  thou  forgivest 
me!" 

"  Thou  shouldst  not  give  way  to  such  fancies, 
uncle,  mine,"  said  the  nephew;  "methinks,  thou  art 
looking  better  to-day  than  thou  hast  done  for  months 
past ;  and  know  I  not  that  thou  hast  always  been 
fond  of  Donna  Maria,  even  as  the  good  knight,  Duran- 
darte, was  fond  of  the  true  maiden,  Belerma." 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  241 

"AhJ  Juan;  but  Velasquez  is  no  Durandarte,  to 
find  his  way  to  the  heart  of  a  fair  maiden.  These 
days  bring  forth  no  knighthood  such  as  his.  Who  is 
it  walks  behind  us  ?  Methought  I  heard  a  foot- 
step!" 

"  It  is  none  but  the  page,  Gomez,"  said  the  nephew, 
in  somewhat  hurried  accents. 

A  thrill  ran  through  the  veins  of  Maria,  as  she  re- 
membered that  the  page,  Gomez,  was  the  creature  of 
Juan,  and  the  person  who,  as  a  spy  upon  her  actions, 
first  discovered  the  strong  intimacy  between  herself 
and  Lopez  de  Levya.  The  tones  of  Juan  betrayed 
to  her  something  of  his  purpose,  and  she  gathered 
from  them  the  conclusion,  that  he  meditated  the  per- 
formance of  his  crime  that  very  night.  Her  heart 
smote  her.  She  felt  her  own  criminality;  but  she 
loathed  the  tyranny  of  Velasquez,  as  much  as  she  did 
the  cold  and  cruel  selfishness  of  Juan ;  and  it  was 
only  in  the  death  of  both  that  she  could  possibly  hope 
to  extricate  from  his  desolate  condition  the  unhappy 
Lopez,  whom,  if  she  did  not  actually  love,  she  did 
not  loathe,  and  for  whom  every  sentiment  of  humanity 
required  that  she  should  suffer  the  bloody  game  of 
Juan  to  go  on.  But  she  looked  round,  at  the  inquiry 
of  Velasquez,  and  while  she  detected  Gomez  near 
them,  she  was  also  enabled  to  discover  another  and  a 
taller  form  among  the  shadows  beyond  him.  In  this 
person  she  fancied  she  saw  Linares,  and  suddenly  she 
commenced  the  Hymn  to  the  Virgin,  plaintive  and 
touching,  of  the  dying  knight,  Baldwin : — 
21 


242  THE  MAROON; 

"  0  Santa  Maria  Senora, 
No  me  quieras  olvidar, 
A  ti  encomiendo  mi  alina, 
Plegate  de  la  guardar, 
En  este  trance  muerte, 
Esfuerzo  me  querais  dar, 
Pues  a  les  tristes  consuelas 
Quieras  a  mi  consolar. 
Y  a  tu  preciosa  Hijo, 
Por  mi  te  plega  rogar, 
Que  perdone  mis  pecados, 
Mi  alma  quiera  salvar." 

Which  in  an  English  idiom  we  may  render  thus  : — 

"  Holy  Mary,  thee  beseeching, 

Lo !  my  soul  in  anguish  cries ; 
Take  it  to  thy  holy  keeping, 

Grant  thy  mercy  ere  it  dies. 
In  the  death-trance  quickly  sinking, 

To  thy  throne  for  help  I  flee, 
In  my  hour  of  terror,  drinking 

Consolation  still  from  thee  : 
From  thy  precious  Son,  entreating 

Pardon  for  my  past  career ; 
And  the  soul,  its  doom  awaiting, 

Rescue  from  its  mortal  fear." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

j 

SHE  had  two  objects  in  choosing  this  hymn.  It 
was  the  appropriate  chant  of  Velasquez — equally  for 
his  lips  and  ears — at  that  moment  of  his  impending 
peril ;  and  she  cherished  the  humane  hope  that,  as  in 
the  previous  song,  he  would  join  his  voice  with  hers, 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        243 

and  thus  utter  the  proper  prayer  to  Heaven  just  when 
it  would  most  become  his  lips.  Her  quick  instincts 
led  her  also  to  believe  that  Linares  would  receive  it 
as  an  intimation  that  the  time  was  approaching  when 
it  would  be  necessary  for  him  also  to  act.  But  Ve- 
lasquez took  no  part  in  the  hymn.  His  head  sank 
upon  his  breast  as  she  proceeded,  and  he  seemed  to 
drowse. 

"  Dost  thou  sleep,  uncle  ?"  demanded  Juan. 

He  looked  up  when  addressed,  and,  in  the  imper- 
fect light,  it  could  be  seen  that  the  eyes  of  the  invalid 
were  full  of  tears. 

"  The  hymn  saddens  though  it  soothes  me,  Maria. 
Why  didst  thou  choose  it  ?  Yet  I  blame  thee  not.  I 
would  I  could  sing  it  with  thee.  I  strove,  but  the 
voice  failed  me,  and  my  heart  felt  strange  as  if  with  a 
sudden  sinking.  I  remember  me  to  have  heard  that 
hymn,  the  last  night  that  I  slept  in  the  dwelling  of 
my  poor  mother,  Juanita.  I  was  innocent  then  !  I 
was  a  lad  !  There  was  a  woman  who  was  blind — they 
called  her  Dolores — she  sang  it  often  beneath  our 
windows,  but  I  did  not  weep  to  hear  it  then  as  I  do 
now.  Yet  I  remember  it  well.  I  knew  the  ballad  all 
by  heart,  and  could  have  sang  it  with  her ;  but  I  had 
wilder  fancies,  and  I  mocked  the  tenderness  of  her 
hymn  with  a  gay  ballad  of  some  bolder  spirit.  I 
could  not  mock  her  now.  Thy  voice  hath  soothed 
me,  Maria,  but  sing  to  me  no  more  to-night,  I  feel  as 
I  would  sleep.  Juan,  give  me  thy  arm." 

The  nephew  started  to  his  feet.  Maria  would  have 
offered  an  arm  also,  but  Juan  repulsed  her. 


244  THE  MAEOON; 

"Not  thine  !"  he  answered,  in  accents  not  so  low 
but  that  Velasquez  heard  them. 

"  And  why  not  hers,  Juan  ?" 

"  She  lacks  the  strength  !     Here  is  Gomez." 

"  Maria  lack  the  strength  !  Is  she  not  well,  Juan  ? 
or  am  I  so  much  feebler  than  before  ?  It  must  be  so  ! 
I  feel  it  so  !  Well !  Give  me  help  !  Gomez  be 
it,  then." 

A  cold  sweat  covered  the  face  and  forehead  of 
Maria  de  Pacheco,  as  she  beheld  the  officious  Gomez 
start  forward  at  the  summons  of  Juan.  She  saw 
Velasquez  grasped  by  them,  as  if  for  support,  on  either 
side.  The  words  of  the  latter — 

"It  is  very  dark — goest  thou  rightly,  Juan  ? — 
rushed  through  her  very  brain  with  a  dreadful  import, 
the  more  terrible  and  startling,  as,  having  herself 
receded  toward  the  cabin,  she  did  not  see  them  ap- 
proach. Then  she  was  conscious  that  some  one  stood 
beside  her.  It  was  Linares,  followed  by  another. 
She  grasped  his  arm. 

"Now,  now,  Linares! — It  is  doing!  Hence!  Quick! 
God  have  mercy !" 

A  plunge,  and  a  most  piercing  shriek,  were  heard 
while  she  was  speaking.  Linares  started  forward. 
There  was  a  sudden  uproar  in  the  ship.  The  alarm 
was  given,  and  the  men  were  running  to  and  fro,  while 
a  crowd  gathered  on  the  side  where  the  deed  had  been 
done.  Another  scream  from  the  waters — a  scream  of 
agony — a  cry  for  help — and  then  the  stern  accents  of 
Linares  prevailed  over  all  others. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CA11IBBEES.  245 

"  Murderer  of  thy  uncle — bloody  traitor — I  have 
caught  thee  in  the  act!" 

"Away!"  cried  Juan  de  Silva  —  "and  to  thy 
duties.  Behold  in  me  thy  captain  !" 

"Never!"  was  the  cry  from  the  crew.  "Diego 
Linares !" 

"  The  heavy  hand  of  Linares  was  upon  the  shoulder 
of  the  culprit.  His  confederate,  Gomez,  was  in  the 
grasp  of  an  equally  powerful  assailant.  The  proceed- 
ing had  been  too  well  devised — the  action  too  prompt — 
to  suffer  the  cunning  Juan  to  escape  by  any  subtleties; 
and  he  was  already  given  to  understand  that  the  fate 
to  which  he  was  doomed,  was  that  to  which  his  uncle 
had  been  already  consigned.  In  the  suddenly  aroused 
sense  of  danger  which  he  felt,  his  impulse  was  to  call 
for  Donna  Maria. 

"  She  is  here  !"  cried  Linares. 

The  proud  woman  had  recovered  all  her  strength 
of  soul  and  courage,  and  the  conviction  that  the  hate- 
ful and  malignant  spirit  whom  she  had  once  feared 
was  now  wholly  in  her  power ;  and  she  felt  an  exulting 
sense  of  pleasure  in  being  able  to  discard  the  veil  of 
hypocrisy  which  she  had  so  successfully  worn.  She 
steadily  advanced  towards  the  clamorous  group. 

"  Speak  for  me,  Maria  !"  exclaimed  the  captive — 
"  tell  these  men — say  to  Linares,  that,  in  what  I  have 
done,  I  have  but  obeyed  thy  wishes  !" 

"  As  if  my  wishes  should  suffice  to  move  the  loving 
nephew  to  the  murder  of  his  first  friend  and  most 
loving  uncle  !" 

"  Demonios  !  do  I  hear  thee,  woman  ?" 
21* 


246  THE  MAROON; 

He  was  grappled  instantly  and  firmly  by  the  vigor- 
ous Linares.  A  dozen  willing  hands  were  nigh,  to 
help  him  in  the  fearful  deed  which  he  designed. 

"  Must  I  perish  !  Has  my  toil  of  blood  been  taken 
for  such  as  these !  Maria,  dost  thou  indeed  desert 
me?  Speak!"  cried  the  desperate  man — "Speak! 
thou  knewest  my  purpose — thou  didst  not  disclaim 
my  deed  !" 

"  I  know  thee  as  a  felon  and  a  fiend  ;  as  one  whom 
I  loathe  and  scorn !  Linares,  trust  him  not !  He 
who  would  keep  no  terms  with  one  so  confiding  as  his 
mother's  brother,  will  keep  no  terms  with  ihee.  What 
said  I  to  thee  before  ?  Do  thy  duty  to  thyself  and 
me !  Revenge  Velasquez,  thy  captain,  recover  the 
wretched  Lopez  de  Levya  from  the  isle  where  he  was 
put  to  perish,  and  be  the  master  of  thy  ship  and 
crew  !" 

"  This,  then,  was  thy  scheme  !  Demonios  !  that  I 
should  have  been  blinded  by  this  woman's  subtleties!" 

"  Thou  wast  the  victim  to  thy  own  vanities — thy 
own  quickness  to  crime — thy  own  coldness  of  heart  !" 
said  the  proud  Maria. 

"  Oh,  tongue  of  the  serpent !  dost  thou  sting  me 
thus  !  But  thou  exultest  too  soon.  Thinkest  thou 
that  I  have  lived  for  such  a  fate  as  this !  with  this  wealth 
at  my  girdle — with  so  much  of  life  in  my  possession 
— shall  I  lose  life  ?  No  !  off  there,  ye  base  scum  and 
ofial — off!  Ye  shall  hang  for  this  like  dogs — I 
will !— " 

His  own  terrible  struggles  arrested  his  words,  by 
which  they  had  been  stimulated.  He  had  much  to 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        247 

live  for,  and  the  unwilling  spirit  of  youth  was  not  to 
be  resigned  so  easily  to  the  sacrifice  of  those  delights, 
for  which  he  had  paid  such  heavy  price.  His  strength, 
which  was  not  ordinarily  great,  was  that  of  despera-, 
tion  at  the  moment.  He  fought  with  wonderful  spirit 
and  address,  and  it  tasked  three  stout  seamen  so  to 
recover  the  mastery  over  him,  as  to  lift  him  to  the 
side  of  the  vessel  to  which  the  feeble  uncle  had  been 
beguiled,  and  over  which  he  had  been  suddenly  thrown. 
Brought  to  the  verge  of  the  precipice,  he  succeeded 
in  forcing  himself  back,  so  that  his  head  only  hung 
over  the  bulwarks. — Suddenly,  however,  the  weight  of 
the  powerful  Linares  was  thrown  upon  him  ;  and  the 
crack  of  the  neck,  as  it  was  thrust  down  upon  the  sharp 
and  narrow  thwarts,  could  have  been  heard  even  above 
the  spasmodic  gurgle  and  hoarse  scream  of  the  victim, 
by  which  it  was  accompanied.  The  still  quivering 
carcass  which  they  committed  to  the  deep,  was  no 
longer  conscious  of  its  fate.  A  second  plunge  de- 
clared the  doom  of  the  page  Gomez,  whose  cries  had 
been  silenced  by  the  stroke  of  a  dagger,  while  his 
master's  death-struggles  were  most  violent.  Deep 
and  dreary  was  the  silence  which  followed  on  board 
the  vessel.  The  rage  of  all  parties  was  satisfied,  and 
a  certain,  but  indescribable  fear  was  upon  every  heart. 
But  none  of  the  fruits  of  the  struggle  had  been  lost. 
A  single  hour  had  in  effect  rendered  Maria  de  Pacheco, 
as  had  been  promised  by  Juan  de  Silva,  the  mistress 
of  the  Dian  de  Burgos.  A  single  sentence  to  Diego 
Linares  declared  the  present  destination  of  the  vessel. 
"  The  Maroon — Lopez  de  Levya  !" 


248  THE  MAROON; 

She  was  obeyed  ;  the  ship  was  brought  about,  and 
her  prow  turned  once  more  in  the  direction  of  the 
desolate  Isle  of  Lovers. 


CHAPTER    X. 

LET  us  now  return  to  our  Maroon.  Three  days 
upon  his  desolate  island  did  not  materially  lessen  its 
terrors,  or  increase  its  attractions,  in  the  eyes  of 
Lopez  de  Levya.  He  still  shuddered,  not  less  at  its 
fanciful  and  unknown  dangers  than  at  his  isolation 
among  them.  But  the  necessity  of  looking  about 
him — of  looking  upward,  indeed — of  feeling  himself 
in  motion,  and  realizing,  as  thoroughly  as  he  could, 
the  sense  of  life,  as  well  as  its  consciousness  of  suffer- 
ing— led  him,  at  the  end  of  this  period,  to  make  an 
effort,  which,  in  his  previous  feeling  of  despair,  he 
had  never  thought  it  possible  he  should  make  again. 
The  nature,  even  of  the  constitutionally  timid  man, 
does  not  easily  succumb  to  fortune — does  not  usually 
— except,  perhaps,  in  the  first  moment  of  overthrow, 
yield  itself  submissively  to  fate.  The  first  moment  of 
weariness  which  succeeds  the  contest,  is,  perhaps,  the 
one  of  greatest  prostration ;  and,  after  that,  the  recu- 
perative energies  arouse  themselves  and  the  sufferer 
together.  The  very  sense  of  abandonment  is  usually 
one  of  awakening  and  new  resolve.  This  is  one  of 
the  marked  characteristics  of  the  human  nature. 
Indeed,  the  natural  impulse  of  every  free  moral  agent 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        249 

is  resistance.  To  oppose,  to  struggle  farther — to 
contend  to  the  last,  and  even  -where  consciousness  of 
the  conflict  itself  fails — is  one  of  the  earliest,  as  it  is 
one  of  the  most  necessary  developments  of  the  moral 
instinct.  Combativeness,  indeed,  is  one  of  the  most 
important  of  our  moral  qualities.  It  is  one  which — 
arguing  always  the  presence  of  a  great  and  pressing 
necessity — is,  at  the  same  time,  continually  counsel- 
ling the  means  by  which  to  contend  against  it. 

Lopez  de  Levya,  though  feeble,  was  not  entirely 
wanting  in  the  natural  instinct ;  and,  armed  with  the 
Spanish  crossbow,  and  the  shafts  which  had  been  ac- 
corded him — a  spear,  a  knife,  and  one  or  two  other 
implements  of  use  and  necessity,  which  might,  in  the 
event  of  exigency,  be  converted  into  weapons — he 
now  proceeded  to  explore  his  empire.  A  sense  of  his 
possessions  was  also  rapidly  beginning  to  make  itself 
felt  in  his  reasonings.  That  delightful  human  instinct 
which,  in  the  consciousness  of  sway,  reconciles  us  so 
readily  to  all  its  dangers,  was  about  to  contribute  its 
assistance  toward  comforting  our  Maroon  in  his  deso- 
lation. He  was,  indeed,  a  sovereign,  though  he  com- 
manded no  subjects.  Yet,  the  wild-fowl  which  sped 
along  the  shore  before  his  footsteps,  or  sprang  aloft, 
wheeling  in  slow  gyrations  overhead,  as  he  drew  nigh 
their  coverts,  might  be  made  to  feel  his  authority  as 
well  as  to  minister  to  his  wants.  He  could  persecute, 
punish,  and  destroy  them,  quite  as  certainly,  and  cer- 
tainly with  less  danger  to  himself,  than  if  they  were 
of  his  own  species  ;  and  a  sense  of  fierce  delight  at 
this  consciousness  of  his  power  to  do  mischief,  was 


250  THE  MAROON; 

grateful  to  his  heart,  as  it  always  is  to  that  of  the 
being  who  is  himself  peculiarly  sensible  to  the  in- 
fluences of  fear.  He  was  beginning  to  regard  with 
complacency  a  condition  from  which  there  was  no 
escape.  A  thousand  years  might  elapse,  as  Velasquez 
had  malignantly  assured  him,  without  suffering  the 
prows  of  any  European  vessel  to  approach  so  nearly 
to  his  islet  as  to  discover  the  existence  of  its  lone  pos- 
sessor. He  must  make  the  most  of  that  existence. 
He  must  hoard,  must  economize  his  resources,  as  well 
of  thought  and  enjoyment,  as  of  covering  and  food. 
He  must  not  destroy  his  subjects  simply  to  exercise 
his  authority.  His  power  must  be  sparingly  indulged 
for  his  own  sake  and  safety.  He  laid  aside  his  guitar 
with  care  and  tenderness,  protecting  it  from  hurt  and 
exposure,  by  hanging  it  beneath  the  friendly  palm- 
trees  where  he  had  passed  the  night.  In  the  first 
paroxysm  of  his  despair  and  madness,  conscious  that 
this  dangerous  but  delightful  instrument  was  connected 
with  his  present  sufferings,  he  was  about  to  dash  it 
upon  the  bleak  sands  and  trample  it  under  foot,  or 
cast  it  from  him  into  the  engulfing  and  surrounding 
sea.  He  knew  not,  himself,  why  he  forbore* to  do  so. 
Some  tender  recollection  in  his  thought  procured  its 
safety  ; — some  conviction  that  it  might  minister  to 
him  in  his  wretched  exile; — and  the  desperate  passion 
which  might  have  destroyed  it — was  restrained.  Yet 
bitter  were  the  tears  that  he  shed  over  it,  as,  arousing 
from  the  swoon  that  followed  the  .departure  of  the 
vessel  from  his  eyes,  he  found  the  cruel  memorial  still 
about  his  neck,  where  it  had  been  hung  by  the  mock- 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        251 

ing  hands  of  his  enemy.  With  the  subdued  temper 
that  followed  the  first  feeling  of  his  despair,  the  in- 
strument became  doubly  precious,  as  it  not  only  spoke 
of  future  solace,  but  reminded  him  of  former  enjoy- 
ments. It  constituted  one  of  the  few  moral  links 
which  connected  him  still  with  the  great  family  of, 
man.  He  lacked  the  courage  to  part  with  any  of  his 
treasures,  and  the  care  with  which  he  secreted  his 
favorite  instrument  beneath  the  palm-trees,  was  that 
of  the  tender  mother  who  leaves  her  infant  for 
awhile,  solicitous  of  its  comfort  even  while  she  has  no 
fears  for  its  safety  ;  and  sometimes  looking  back,  not 
with  any  hope  to  see,  but  that  her  eyes  involuntarily 
yield  themselves  to  the  course  indicated  by  her  heart. 
This  charge  disposed  of,  Lopez  de  Levya  grasped 
his  spear  with  as  much  martial  dignity  as  he  could 
command.  He  felt  for  his  knife  at  his  girdle,  he 
slung  the  crossbow  over  his  shoulder,  and,  ready  for 
any  event,  he  sallied  forth  to  explore  his  empire. 
But  though  his  territory  was  a  small  one,  such  as  an 
adventurous  spirit  would  have  traversed  wholly,  and 
surveyed  thoroughly,  in  the  course  of  a  single  day,  our 
Maroon  was  quite  too  timid,  too  cautious  in  his  foot- 
steps, not  to  make  it  a  work  of  longer  time.  Several 
days  were  necessary  to  his  examination.  He  pro- 
ceeded slowly,  and  winding  needfully  about,  and 
probing  every  copse  before  he  penetrated  it,  he  first 
assured  himself  against  any  possible  danger  from 
secret  foes,  before  he  made  his  search  satisfactory. 
His  domain  was  equally  ample  and  compact ;  not 
wanting  in  variety,  but  having  its  elevations  of  rock, 


252  THE  MAROON; 

and  its  valley  of  verdure,  and  its  long  wastes  and 
stretches  of  sand,  in  a  comparatively  close  compass. 
The  islet  was  not,  as  it  had  been  thought  by  Velas- 
quez, a  mere  series  of  sand-hills,  raised  up  by  the 
sea,  the  creation  of  its  own  contending  billows.  It 
twas  a  solid  rock,  whose  gradual  ascent,  nowhere 
rising  into  more  than  a  very  gentle  elevation,  admitted 
of  the  easy  accumulation  of  sand  and  soil,  which,  in 
process  of  time,  had  in  various  places  received  a 
covering  of  very  green  and  beautiful  vegetation.  The 
shrubbery  was  rather  close  than  lofty.  Among  the 
trees  were  the  plantain,  the  cocoanut,  the  breadfruit, 
and  the  banana.  The  pineapple  grew  in  gold  and 
purple,  unobserved  by  man ;  and  slender  vines,  which 
shot  out  from  the  knotted  and  ancient  bulbs,  from 
crevices  of  the  rock,  ran  wantonly  over  the  sides  of 
sudden  hillocks,  which  they  garnished  with  blue  clus- 
ters of  the  grape.  Verily,  our  musician  had  an  em- 
pire in  truth.  Velasquez  little  dreamed  of  the  trea- 
sure he  had  given  away  in  his  malice.  The  sterile 
islet  was  a  principality  of  fairy  land,  and  Lopez  de 
Levya  grew  more  and  more  reconciled  to  life  as  he 
beheld  the  wealth  which  lay  scattered  around  him. 
His  possessions  were  beyond  his  wants.  Nature  had 
made  ample  provision,  and  millions  might  have  been 
found,  among  the  needy  and  oppressed  children  of 
Europe,  to  whom  a  life  of  exile  and  isolation  in  such 
an  abode,  would  have  been  the  most  acceptable  boon 
of  Heaven.  Nor  were  these  vegetable  possessions  all 
that  came  to  Lopez  with  his  empire.  Tribes  of  small 
wild  animals  wantoned  before  his  footsteps,  scarcely 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        253 

seeming  to  fear  his  presence ;  and  the  nimble  little 
marmozet  of  the  tropics,  with  a  petty,  playful  mis- 
chief, darting  before  him  as  he  came,  would  fling  the 
nuts  from  the  tree-tops,  and  chatter,  in  equal  fun  and 
defiance,  at  his  sovereign  authority.  Our  Maroon 
began  to  grow  interested  in  his  possessions,  and  fate 
soon  conducted  him  to  other  discoveries.  His  island, 
stretching  away  from  north  to  south,  was  exceedingly 
long  in  proportion  to  its  width.  He  had  been  landed 
at  the  northern  extremity,  at  which  point  it  had  been 
impossible  to  conceive  its  dimensions,  except  from  its 
width,  and  this  had  led  to  conclusions  which  gave  no 
reason  to  suppose  its  extent  to  be  half  so  great  as 
Lopez  found  it.  At  the  close  of  the  third  day  of  his 
explorations,  he  had  nearly  reached  its  southern  ex- 
tremity. He  had  found  the  land  gradually  to  rise  as 
he  advanced,  until,  toward  the  close,  taken  in  com- 
parison with  the  uniform  level  of  the  sand  and  sea 
surrounding  the  spot  to  which  he  approached,  and  by 
which  the  island  was  terminated  in  this  quarter,  he 
discovered  what  might  be  considered  a  moderate  mount- 
ain. It  was  certainly  a  large  and  imposing  hill,  seen 
from  the  low  shores  or  the  waters  which  surrounded 
them.  Here,  too,  the  groves  thickened  into  some- 
thing like  a  forest.  Heated  by  his  ramble,  and  some- 
what fatigued,  as  the  day  was  wearing  to  its  close,  he 
passed  gladly  for  shelter  into  the  shady  recesses  of  its 
heights.  He  soon  found  himself  in  one  of  the  coolest 
realms  of  shade  which  he  had  ever  traversed.  A 
natural  pathway,  as  it  seemed,  conducted  him  forward. 
Gradually  advancing,  he  at  length  emerged  from  the 
22 


254  THE  MAROON; 


thicket  only  to  stand  upon  the  brow  of  a  rugged  emi- 
nence, which  rose  almost  perpendicularly,  overlooking 
the  sea.  A  small  flat  of  sandy  beach  lay  at  his  feet, 
which  was  evidently  subject  to  overflow  at  the  rising 
of  the  tide.  Not  half  a  mile  beyond  could  be  seen  a 
small  cluster  of  little  rocks,  just  peering  above  the 
sea,  scarcely  bigger,  it  would  seem,  than  so  many 
human  heads,  which  the  waves  covered  at  high  water. 
Between  them,  he  could  distinguish  the  boiling  and 
striving  of  the  billows,  which  sent  up  a  sheeted 
shower  far  above  the  rocks  with  which  they  strove. 
Long  lines,  stretching  from  several  points,  and  losing 
themselves  among  these  rocks,  betrayed  the  course  of 
strong  currents,  which  were  caused  by  the  capricious 
whirlpools  that  lay  within  their  embrace.  The  eye 
of  Lopez  took  in  all  these  objects,  but  they  did  not 
bound  his  survey.  Stretching  far  beyond — did  he 
only  fancy,  or  did  he  really  behold  a  slender  dark 
speck,  which  might  be  the  outline  of  a  shore  corre- 
sponding with  that  on  which  he  stood? — miles  of 
ocean  lay  between  them,  but  in  that  unclouded  realm 
of  sunshine  and  of  calm,  objects  might  be  seen  from 
an  eminence,  such  as  that  on  which  he  stood,  at  a  sur- 
prising distance.  It  was  only  in  glimpses  now  that  he 
beheld,  or  fancied,  the  object  in  his  gaze.  Sometimes 
it  would  utterly  disappear — but  this  might  be  from  the 
continued  and  eager  tension  of  his  vision ; — again  would 
it  grow  out  boldly  beneath  his  eyes ; — but  this  might  be 
in  obedience  only  to  the  desires  of  his  mind.  Long  and 
feverishly  did  he  watch,  and  many  were  his  conject- 
ures as  to  the  distant  empire  which  his  hope  or  his 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  255 

sight  had  conjured  up.  He  turned  away,  and  his 
glances  rested  upon  the  smooth  plain  of  yellow  sand 
beneath  his  feet,  which  lay  inviting  to  his  tread,  glisten- 
ing a  thousand  fires  from  bits  of  crystal,  which  reflect- 
ed the  now  waning  sunlight.  To  this  little  esplanade, 
which  looked  so  exceedingly  inviting,  our  Maroon 
was  persuaded  to  descend  from  his  heights,  by  finding 
a  convenient  series  of  rude  steps,  which  wound  below 
— little  gaps  in  the  hill-side,  or  fractures  in  the  na-ked 
rock,  which  one  might  almost  be  tempted  to  imagine 
— so  admirable  was  the  assistance  which  they  gave  to 
the  anxious  footsteps — had  been  the  work  of  art. 
Following  these,  Lopez  descended  to  the  hard  and 
sandy  floor,  and  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  rock, 
he  once  more  looked  forth  eagerly  upon  the  doubtful 
waste  of  sea.  There  still  lay  the  empire  of  his  desire. 
It  was  along,  and  over  those  billows  that  he  was  yet 
to  see  the  glimmer  of  a  saving  hope.  Such  was  still 
his  dream,  and,  seating  himself  upon  the  sand,  he  in- 
scribed almost  unconsciously  the  names  of  Spain,  of 
the  Dian  de  Burgos,  and  of  the  lowly  hamlet  in  his 
own  country,  from  which  he  had  been  persuaded  re- 
gretfully to  wander.  Then  followed  rude  outlines  of 
the  ship  which  had  abandoned  him,  and  then,  natur- 
ally enough,  a  portrait,  something  less  rude,  of  the 
fair  but  passionate  woman,  for  whose  fatal  love  he 
was  suffering  the  dreadful  doom  of  exile  and  isolation. 
His  own  name  was  written,  but  as  quickly  obliterated, 
and  musing  over  the  melancholy  record,  his  heart 
failed  him,  and  he  sank  forward,  prone,  upon  the  faint 
memorials  which  the  rising  waters  would  soon  wash 


256  THE  MAROON; 

away  forever.  Thus  he  lay  moaning  for  many  weary 
minutes,  till  all  at  once  a  coldness  fell  upon  him 
which  chilled  him  to  the  heart,  and  aroused  him  to 
more  immediate  apprehensions.  The  shadow  of  the 
hill  beneath  which  he  lay  was  upon  him.  The  sun 
was  slowly  receding  from  the  heights.  Starting  to 
his  feet,  he  turned  to  reascend  the  hill,  and  recoiled 
with  a  feeling  little  short  of  horror,  as  he  beheld  the 
huge  mouth  of  a  cavern  yawning  directly  upon  him. 
This  cavern  was  open  to  the  sea.  Its  waters,  at  their 
rising,  passing  the  little  stretch  of  sand  upon  which 
he  had  lain,  glided  into  the  dim  hollow,  which  now 
looked  grimly  threatening  upon  the  easily  alarmed 
spectator.  The  opening  was  not  a  very  large  one, 
but  would  easily  admit  of  the  passage  of  three  or  more 
persons  at  a  time.  Its  lips  were  covered  with  a  soft 
and  beautiful  clothing  of  green  moss,  which  made  the 
darkness  within  seem  yet  more  dismal.  Long  grasses, 
and  thick  shrubs  and  vines  hanging  over  from  above, 
contributed  to  increase  the  solemnity  of  its  aspect,  as 
showing  the  depth  and  certainty  of  its  solitude ;  and 
the  deep  silence  which  prevailed  within,  added  still 
more  greatly  to  the  impressive  influence  with  which  it 
possessed  the  soul  of  the  Maroon,  while  he  timidly 
yet  eagerly  gazed  upon  the  opening.  At  the  first 
discovery  of  this  domain  of  solemnity  and  silence,  he 
receded  almost  to  the  sea.  He  was  not  encouraged 
by  the  stillness.  A  voice  from  within,  the  cry  of  a 
beast,  the  rush  of  a  bird's  wing — had  been  more  en- 
couraging. His  advance  was  very  gradual — but  he 
did  advance,  his  doubts  being  much  less  easy  of  en- 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        257 

durance  than  the  absolute  presence  of  a  real  cause  of 
apprehension.  With  trembling  nerves  he  presented 
his  spear,  and  got  his  knife  in  readiness.  The  spear 
was  thrust  deep  into  the  throat  of  the  cavern,  but  it 
provoked  no  disquiet  within.  Then,  his  hair  erecting 
itself,  and  his  heart  rising  in  his  throat  as  he  advanced, 
he  at  length  fairly  made  his  way  into  the  subterra- 
nean dwelling.  There  he  shouted,  and  the  sounds 
came  rolling  back  upon  him  from  so  many  hollow 
voices  within,  that  he  once  more  recoiled  from  the 
adventure,  and  hurried  back  in  terror  to  the  entrance. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

BUT  he  gathered  courage  for  a  second  trial.  The 
answering  echoes  were  not  followed  by  any  evil, 
though  they  seemed  to  mock  his  ears  with  a  laughter 
such  as  he  had  heard  from  the  tyrant  of  the  Dian  de 
Burgos,  when  he  devoted  him  to  his  melancholy  exile. 
He  passed  again  into  the  cavern,  taking  care,  by  his 
own  silence,  to  provoke  no  such  fearful  responses  as 
those  which  had  driven  him  forth.  A  few  feet  brought 
him  to  a  small  dark  pool  which  lay  directly  in  his  path- 
way, and  which  left  but  a  narrow  space  between  its 
own  margin  and  the  walls  of  the  cavern.  This  he 
sounded  with  his  spear,  and  found  to  be  shallow.  It 
was  a  lakelet  left  by  the  waves  of  ocean,  by  which, 
at  its  overflow,  the  cave  was  evidently  penetrated. 
Passing  this  pool,  our  Maroon  found  himself  upon 
22* 


258  THE  MAROON; 

a  dry  floor,  the  foundation  of  which  was  the  solid 
rock  ;  but  a  slender  coating  of  soil  had  formed  upon  it, 
which  was,  in  turn,  clothed  with  a  nice  smooth  cover- 
ing of  green  and  velvet-like  moss.  Here  he  was 
gladdened  by  a  glimpse  of  the  sun,  which,  breaking 
through  a  chink  in  the  rock,  a  slender  crevice,  glided 
along  the  rugged  vault-side,  affording  to  the  timid 
adventurer  a  more  perfect  idea  of  an  angel  presence 
than  he  had  ever  before  possessed.  Another  opening 
in  the  rock,  almost  immediately  above,  afforded  suffi- 
cient light  for  his  examination  of  the  whole  interior. 
The  cave  narrowed  to  a  still  slenderer  gap,  as  he 
advanced,  than  was  the  one  by  which  he  had  entered. 
This  was  the  entrance  to  another  apartment.  It  was 
some  time  before  he  ventured  to  enter  this,  and  not 
until  he  had  thrust  his  spear  its  full  length  into  its 
recesses.  He  then  clambered  up,  for  the  elevation  of 
this  inner  chamber  was  greater  than  the  first.  Here 
he  was  again  refreshed  with  brief  glimpses  of  the  sun- 
light, which,  peeping  in  through  two  openings  of  the 
rock,  looked  like  two  of  the  most  natural  and  smiling 
eyes  in  the  world.  This  apartment,  though  of  less 
height,  was  of  larger  area  than  the  other.  It  soon 
afforded  him  new  subjects  of  curiosity  if  not  alarm. 
In  the  centre  of  the  chamber  stood  a  rock,  scarcely 
larger  than  a  blacksmith's  anvil,  and  having  something 
of  the  appearance  of  one,  on  which  lay  the  remains  of 
a  fire.  Brands  lay  half  consumed,  the  fires  of  which 
were  now  extinguished ;  but  the  ashes  were  there, 
still  undisturbed,  as  if  the  flame  had  only  recently 
gone  out.  Piles  of  an  aromatic  gum  lay  upon  a  shelf 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        259 

of  the  rock,  and  other  piles,  in  slender  fragments  of 
wood,  of  which  our  Maroon  knew  nothing,  lay  conti- 
guous also.  But  what  more  than  anything  beside 
arrested  and  confounded  our  Maroon,  were  certain 
numerous  shreds  of  dark  hair,  soft,  fine,  and  very 
long,  like  the  hair  of  women,  which  hung  neatly 
tied  in  separate  volumes  from  the  tops  of  reeds,  which 
were  stuck  about  the  vaulted  roof  of  the  cavern,  and 
wherever  a  crevice  could  be  found  sufficiently  large  in 
which  to  introduce  their  slender  extremities.  Exa- 
mining several  of  these  shreds  of  hair,  the  wonder  of 
the  explorer  was  increased  to  discover  that  the  ends 
of  them  were  shrivelled  as  in  the  flame.  There  were 
other  objects  to  excite  his  surprise,  if  not  to  occasion 
his  alarm.  Baskets  of  shells  and  pebbles,  flowers 
which  had  decayed,  a  bow  and  many  arrows — all  of 
the  latter  being  broken — and  a  heavy  string  of  large 
pearls  which  had  been  slightly  injured  in  the  fire,  but 
which  Spanish  cupidity  readily  conceived  would  still 
possess  considerable  value  in  the  Cuba  market. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HERE,  then,  was  a  curious  discovery.  The  island 
was  not  inhabited.  He  had  traversed  it  for  three  days, 
and  had  found  no  footstep  but  his  own.  Had  it  ever 
been  inhabited  ?  Scarcely ;  the  impunity  with  which 
beast  and  bird  enjoyed  its  securities,  and  of  which  he 
had  sufficient  proofs  in  his  three  days'  experience,  was 


260 

conclusive  of  that  question.  But  that  it  was  visited 
by  human  beings,  the  witnesses  in  the  cavern  were 
numerous.  Did  they  come  frequently,  for  what  pur- 
pose, and  from  whence?  These  were  the  next  ques- 
tions. That  they  came  frequently  might  be  inferred 
from  various  circumstances.  The  brands  which  had 
been  swept  from  the  altar,  were  in  great  heaps  in  one 
corner  of  the  cavern.  The  shreds  of  hair  were  equally 
numerous  and  of  different  degrees  of  age.  This  dif- 
ference was  very  perceptible  upon  the  slightest  ex- 
amination. They  came  for  a  religious  purpose.  The 
shreds  of  hair,  the  altar,  the  aromatic  woods  and  gum 
— were  all  significant  of  sacred  rites.  From  whence? 
Surely,  was  the  thought  of  the  Maroon,  from  that 
isle,  or  continent,  the  dim  outlines  of  which  had  fixed 
his  gaze  but  an  hour  before.  A  farther  search  led  to 
farther  discoveries,  but  all  of  the  same  character. 
Vast  stores  of  these  shreds  of  hair,  seemingly  the 
accumulation  of  centuries,  were  found  in  remote 
crannies  and  dark  recesses  of  the  vault.  A  thousand 
little  baskets  of  shells,  and  white  and  blue  fragments 
— pebbles  that  seemed  like  glass — and  more  precious 
in  the  sight  of  Lopez,  numerous  strands  of  pearl,  such 
as  he  had  already  discovered — which,  dark  and  dingy 
with  frequent  smokes  in  the  cavern,  he  found  could 
be  made  clean  by  a  little  water.  In  a  recess  of  the 
rock,  the  most  obscure,  he  made  the  discovery  of  a 
niche  which  had  evidently  been  used  for  a  couch.  It 
was  softly  lined  with  moss  and  leaves,  and  there  were 
flowers  in  bunches  at  the  head  and  feet  which  might 
have  been  grasped  by  the  hands  of  youth  and  beauty. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        261 

The  impression  of  the  head  was  perceptible  upon  a 
pillow  of  moss  at  one  extremity,  and  suggested  to  our 
Maroon  the  idea  of  a  far  more  comfortable  couch  for 
himself  than  any  which  he  had  yet  found  upon  his 
island.  The  sun  had  been  rapidly  sinking  while  he 
had  been  urging  his  researches,  and  the  cheerless  dusk 
of  the  horizon  without,  as  he  emerged  from  the  cavern 
determined  him  once  more  to  return  to  its  recesses. 
He  did  so,  and,  ascending  the  mysterious  recess  in  the 
inner  chamber,  though  with  some  hesitation,  he  soon 
sunk  into  a  deep  slumber,  in  which,  though  he  dreamed 
of  strange  forms  and  aspects  about  him,  he  dreamed 
of  nothing  to  impair  the  virtue  of  his  sleep. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

BUT,  with  his  awakening  thoughts,  apprehension, 
rather  than  pride  or  exultation,  followed  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  new  discoveries.  Had  he  not  reason  to 
fear  the  return  of  the  strange  people  by  whom  the  isle 
was  visited,  as  it  would  seem,  periodically  ?  That 
they  were  a  barbarous  people  he  could  not  doubt;  that 
they  would  resent  his  presence,  and  treat  him  as  an 
enemy,  he  had  every  reason  to  dread.  He  should  be 
a  victim  to  some  one  of  their  cruel  sacrifices.  He 
should  be  immolated  on  the  altars  of  one  of  the  bloody 
deities  of  the  Caribbean  worship.  The  man  brave  by 
nature,  and  in  the  situation  of  Lopez  de  Levya,  might 
well  entertain  such  apprehensions.  How  much  more 


262  THE  MAROON; 

vividly  would  they  occur  to  the  imagination  of  one 
so  timid  and  feeble  of  soul  as  our  Maroon.  They 
kept  him — assuming  various  forms  of  terror — in  a  cold 
sweat  for  several  days  ;  and  though  the  impression 
was  naturally  weakened  and  dissipated  the  more 
familiar  the  images  became,  yet  any  immediately 
impelling  thought  brought  them  back  upon  his  spirit 
with  a  ghastly  and  withering  influence.  Three  days 
elapsed  after  this  discovery  before  he  found  himself 
able  to  recur  to  it  without  a  vague  and  overpowering 
sense  of  terror.  But  the  pearls  shone  in  his  eyes. 
He  had  grown  wealthy  on  a  sudden.  He  drew  forth 
the  numerous  strings  which  he  found  suspended  in  the 
cavern.  Every  Spaniard  of  that  day  had  an  instinc- 
tive appreciation  of  treasure.  Lopez  had  never  seen 
so  much  riches  at  a  glance  before.  He  examined  his 
pearls  in  the  sunlight.  He  cleansed  them  of  their 
impurities  by  the  ocean's  side.  And  he  was  the 
master  of  all  this  glitter.  He  had  never  dreamed  of 
such  vast  possessions.  In  Spain — but  when  he  thought 
of  Spain,  and  felt  the  probability,  in  all  its  force,  that 
he  should  never  again  behold  its  shores,  he  was  al- 
most moved  in  his  desperation  to  fling  his  newly  found 
treasure  into  the  deep.  But  the  latent  hope,  which 
dreamed  of  the  possible  approach  of  some  future 
mariner,  forbade  the  sacrifice ;  and  restoring  his  pos- 
sessions to  the  dark  crevices  from  whence  he  had 
taken  them,  he  stretched  himself  out  upon  the  eminence 
which  vaulted  his  possessions,  and  which  had  now  be- 
come with  him  a  favorite  place  of  watch,  to  gaze  upon 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  263 

the  broad  plain  of  ocean  by  which  he  was  girded  on 
every  hand. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

No  sign  of  hope  for  the  Maroon.  The  sun 
shines  with  a  red  and  scorching  influence.  There  is 
not  a  cloud  in  the  sky  to  curtain  the  brazen  terrors 
of  his  countenance.  The  ocean  sleeps,  smooth  as 
glass,  unbroken  in  its  wilderness  of  range,  spread  out 
like  an  endless  mirror  of  steel,  that  fired  the  very 
brain  to  gaze  upon.  And  in  the  sky,  on  the  return 
of  night,  might  be  seen  the  moon,  bright  but  placid, 
nearly  at  her  full,  giving  to  the  scene  something  of 
an  aspect  melancholy,  such  as  she  habitually  wears 
herself.  Not  a  speck  upon  the  waters — not  a  speck—- 
and, while  the  lull  continues,  no  possibility  of  a  sail 
in  sight.  He  looks  toward  the  faint  uncertain  line  of 
shore,  which  he  has  fancied  to  be  beyond  him  on  the 
south.  It  is  no  fancy  now.  It  is  certain.  The  sub- 
dued waves  lessen  the  usual  obstacles  of  vision.  The 
line  of  land,  if  it  be  land,  and  no  mocking  cloud,  ap- 
pears to  rise.  It  undulates.  There  are  inequalities 
which  strike  his  eye,  and  which,  seen  at  that  distance, 
cannot  be  subject  to  doubt  or  disbelief.  He  trembles 
with  mixed  feelings  of  hope  and  terror  as  he  comes  to 
this  conclusion.  Once  more  to  behold  the  human 
form — once  more  to  look  upon  the  friendly  aspect  of 
man,  and  to  say,  "Brother!"  But  will  the  aspects 


264  THE  MAROON; 

be  friendly  that  shall  look  upon  him  from  that  shore? 
Will  they  hearken  to  his  cry  of  pleading  ?  Will 
they  understand  him  when  he  uses  the  endearing  title 
of  "brother,"  to  the  savage  chief  who  leads  the  ma- 
rauding party  ?  These  suggestions  but  fill  our  Ma- 
roon with  dismay. 

Crouching  in  the  shade,  his  eye  fixed  on  the  oppo- 
site shores,  as  he  believes  them,  he  starts  suddenly  to 
his  feet.  He  passes  his  hand  across  his  brows — his 
fingers  press  his  eyes,  as  if  to  remove  some  speck, 
some  foreign  atom,  from  his  vision.  Can  he  believe 
his  eyes?  Does  he,  indeed,  behold  an  object  upon 
the  waters  approaching  him  from  that  doubtful  and 
hostile  shore  ?  He  sees — but  now  it  disappears.  It 
is  gone !  He  looks  in  vain,  his  whole  frame  con- 
vulsed and  quivering  with  the  emotions  of  his  soul ! 
Again  it  rises  into  view.  It  disturbs  the  smooth  sur- 
face of  the  deep.  The  brightness  of  the  mirror  is 
shaded  by  a  speck,  and  that  speck  grows  upon  his 
sight.  He  can  doubt  no  longer.  It  is  a  boat  which 
he  beholds — it  brings  with  it  a  savage  enemy — the 
fierce  cannibal  of  the  Caribbean  Sea !  He  drops  his 
spear  and  his  crossbow — his  hand  grapples,  not  his 
knife,  but  his  rosary.  He  falls  upon  his  knees — he 
counts  the  beads  with  hurried  hand  and  failing  me- 
mory. He  clutches  the  agnus  Dei — he  strains  it  to 
his  lips,  and  with  many  a  broken  invocation  to  some 
favorite  saint,  he  hurries  away  to  put  himself  in 
shelter. 

His  search  has  fortunately  enabled  him  to  find 
many  places  of  temporary  hiding,  such  as  would 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  265 

probably  suffice  for  safety  during  the  stay — which 
was  evidently  brief  always — of  the  savages  by  whom 
the  islet  was  visited.  At  first,  he  thought  of  occupy- 
ing a  dense  piece  of  copse,  which  lay  at  a  little  dis- 
tance in  the  rear  of  the  elevation  in  which  the  cavern 
was  found.  But  a  doubt  whether  this  would  not  be 
penetrated,  in  a  desultory  ramble  of  the  intruders 
after  fruit,  and  a  curious  desire  to  be  in  some  situa- 
tion, which  would  enable  him  to  watch  their  proceed- 
ings, led  him  to  abandon  this  idea.  The  cave  itself 
was  obviously  one  of  their  places  of  greatest  resort. 
It  was  here  that  their  religious  rites  wrere  performed. 
The  islet  itself  was  unemployed.  It  was  a  place  set 
apart  and  sacred  to  some  special  and  superior  pur- 
pose. The  vaulted  chamber  was  the  place  of  their 
mysteries.  He  determined  that  it  should  be  the  place 
of  his  concealment.  He  had  sought  out  all  its  secret 
places.  He  had  seen  that  certain  of  their  remains — 
their  shreds  of  hair — their  baskets  of  shell — their 
broken  arrows — had  been  undisturbed  for  a  long  sea- 
son ;  and  behind  these,  in  convenient  fissures  of  the 
rock,  which  were  wholly  unlighted  by  the  day,  he 
prepared  to  bestow  himself.  The  suggestions  of  the 
naturally  timid  person,  under  a  consciousness  of  ap- 
proaching danger,  are  usually  prompt  enough.  Lopez 
de  Levya  hurried  to  execute  the  plan  he  had  conceived. 
He  entered  the  cave,  ere  yet  the  strangers  could  be- 
hold any  movement  on  the  shore.  His  provisions — a 
supply  for  several  days,  at  least,  had  been  already 
transferred  to  the  safe-keeping  of  the  vaulted  apart- 
ment. These  were  all  disposed  of,  conveniently  to 
23 


266  THE  MAROON; 

his  reach,  in  the  crevice  of  the  rock  in  which  hia 
own  person  was  to  find  security.  And,  all  prepared, 
he  planted  himself  within  the  mouth  of  the  cave, 
anxiously  looking  forth — yet  not  so  as  to  be  seen — 
for  the  unknown  object  of  his  apprehension. 


CHAPTER    XY. 

THE  strange  object  is  indeed  a  boat — a  large  canoe 
with  two  banks  of  oars — one  of  those  long  and  state- 
ly barges  in  which  the  Caribbean  was  wont  to 
go  forth  for  war  or  ceremonial.  Its  sides  were 
gaudily  and  richly  painted.  Its  poop  was  raised  with 
a  triumphal  canopy  of  dyed  cotton  above  it.  Its  prow 
was  lofty  and  sharp,  and  bore,  for  a  figure-head,  the 
savage  jaws  of  a  cayman,  or  American  crocodile. 
The  rowers  of  the  boat  were  men,  but  all  besides 
were  women.  These  were  eight  in  number — seven 
who  sat  forward,  and  near  the  prow,  and  one  who  sat 
in  the  stern  alone  and  under  the  canopy.  The  course 
of  the  boat  was  regulated  by  the  oarsmen.  The 
women  at  the  prow  were  all  richly  clad  in  stained  cot- 
ton garments.  Their  heads  were  tressed  with  strands 
of  pearl — their  necks,  which  were  bare,  were  covered 
with  similar  decorations.  Each,  in  her  hands,  bore  a 
bunch  of  arrows  and  a  basket.  Beside  them  might  be 
seen  other  baskets  of  aromatic  gums  and  bundles  of  wood 
similarly  aromatic.  These  females  were  all  evidently 
matrons,  none  of  them  being  less  than  thirty  years 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        267 

of  age,  and  all  of  them  wearing  the  experience  of 
look  and  bearing  which  is  common  to  those  who  have 
been  mothers.  But  she,  who  sat  alone  at  the  stern, 
was  evidently  none  of  these.  She  could  not  have 
been  more  than  fifteen  years  old,  and  looked  wild  and 
startled  as  a  young  fawn,  for  the  first  time  venturing 
forth  without  its  dam  in  company.  She  was  quite  as 
beautiful  as  she  was  young  ;  her  skin  less  dark  than  was 
usual  among  the  Caribbean  Indians — not  much  more 
dark,  indeed,  than  was  that  of  the  Spaniard — and  the 
red  blood  coursing  at  moments  from  her  heart  into 
her  cheeks,  suffusing  it  with  the  most  exquisite  tints 
of  innocence  and  youth.  She  was  well  formed  and 
tall.  Her  hair  streamed  down  over  her  back  and 
shoulders.  Her  bosom  was  quite  bare,  without  pearl 
or  any  other  ornament.  Her  dress  was  of  white  cot- 
ton, purely  white,  without  any  of  those  rich  and 
gaudy  dyes,  which  were  so  freely  used  by  jier  people. 
Before  her  was  a  small  earthen  vessel  half  covered, 
from  which  a  slight  smoke  continued  to  ascend,  as  if 
from  a  hidden  fire  below.  Into  this,  at  intervals,  the 
maiden  might  be  seen  to  fling  a  fine  powder,  which  she 
scooped  out  of  a  gourd  that  lay  beside  her.  Nume- 
rous baskets  of  flowers  and  shells  lay  at  her  feet,  and 
a  bunch  of  arrows  rested  upon  her  lap.  The  oars- 
men were  all  habited  as  warriors.  Their  brows  were 
grave.  No  words  passed  among  them  or  among  the  wo- 
men, until,  as  they  drew  nigh  the  shore,  the  latter  sud- 
denly broke  out  into  a  wild,  and  not  unmusical  chant, 
which  made  our  Maroon  recoil  within  his  vaulted  cham- 
ber, with  an  indefinite  sense  of  terror.  At  this  sound 


268  THE  MAROON; 

the  rowers  dropped  their  oars — the  boat  lay  upon  her 
centre,  and  the  women  prepared  to  leave  her,  though 
they  were  still  more  than  thirty  paces  from  the  shore. 
But  the  water  was  exceedingly  shallow  where  the  ves- 
sel lay ; — the  beach  which  formed  the  esplanade  of 
the  cave,  stretching  out  boldly  for  some  distance  into 
the  sea.  Availing  themselves  of  their  knowledge  of 
the  bar,  the  women  stepped  forth  upon  a  ridge,  where 
the  ocean,  disarmed  of  its  billows,  swept  along  gently 
to  the  level  of  their  knees.  They  brought  forth  their 
billets  of  fragrant  wood — their  baskets  of  shell — 
their  sheaves  of  arrows — their  vessels  of  odorous 
gums  and  incense.  Then,  taking  the  damsel  from 
beneath  the  canopy  at  the  stern,  they  bore  her,  with 
anxious  solicitude  upon  their  shoulders  from  the 
vessel  to  the  shore — her  feet  and  drapery  being  kept 
sacred  from  the  waves.  One  of  their  number  seemed 
to  counsel  ^ind  direct  the  rest,  and  it  was  with  feelings 
of  new  horror,  that  our  Maroon  beheld  in  her  grasp, 
as  she  led  the  way  to  the  cavern,  a  sharp  broad 
instrument  of  stone,  that  greatly  resembled  a  butcher's 
cleaver.  His  apprehensions  were  not  now  for  himself. 
For  what  was  the  unhappy  damsel  destined?  For 
the  sacrifice  ?  For  what  crime — what  penance — what 
terrible  superstition  ?  To  appease  the  malice  of  what 
bloody  god,  was  this  poor  child,  so  young,  so  beautiful 
— so  evidently  innocent — to  be  made  the  victim  ?  Her 
sad  and  fearful  looks — the  tears  which  now  gathered  in 
her  eyes — the  wild  chant  of  the  women,  and  the  stern, 
grave  aspects  of  the  men — these  all  seemed  to  denote 
an  occasion  of  woe  and  terror.  The  men  did  not  leave 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        269 

the  boat ;  they  drew  no  nearer  to  the  land.  The  shore 
seemed  to  be  a  consecrated  one,  which  the  masculine 
footstep  was  not  allowed  to  pollute.  The  girl,  still  borne 
upon  the  arms  of  the  women,  and  following  her  who 
seemed  to  be  the  officiating  priestess,  was  carried  into 
the  cavern ;  the  wild  chorus  of  the  women  being  resumed 
as  they  entered  the  gloomy  portals,  and  reverberating 
from  the  walls  within,  with  a  sound  at  once  sweet, 
awful,  and  inspiring. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

OUR  Maroon  was  already  crouched,  close,  in  his 
place  of  hiding.  He  beheld  in  silence  and  safety, 
but  with  an  awful  beating  at  the  heart,  the  whole  of 
the  strange  procession.  He  saw  the  women  circling 
the  altar  stone  with  wild  contortions  and  a  strange 
unearthly  song.  He  saw  them,  from  several  branches 
of  wood,  draw  forth  the  billets,  with  which  they  kind- 
led  a  flame  upon  the  stone.  The  fire  was  drawn  from 
the  vessel  which  had  been  supplied  with  fuel  on  the 
voyage  by  the  hand  of  the  young  damsel.  She  sat 
apart,  on  a  low  projection  of  the  wall,  to  which  she 
had  been  conducted,  and  but  a  few  paces  from  the 
cavity  in  which  Lopez  found  retreat.  She  took  no 
part  in  the  ceremony,  'though  she  seemed  deeply  in- 
terested in  its  progress.  At  certain  pauses  in  the 
wild  incantations,  particularly  when  certain  emphatic 
sounds  or  words  closed  the  chant,  she  clasped  her 
23* 


I 


270  THE  MAROON; 

hands  aloft,  and  her  groan  was  audible,  as  if  in  sup- 
plication. The  fire  began  to  blaze  suddenly  above  the 
stone,  and  its  strange  gleams  played  in  lively  tints 
upon  the  gloomy  walls  of  the  cavern.  Then  the  cir- 
cling dance  and  the  chorus  were  renewed.  Then  at 
certain  sounds  the  women  paused,  and  at  such  mo- 
ments, the  maiden  rose,  and,  approaching  the  flame, 
threw  into  it  fragments  of  wood  or  gum  with  which 
she  had  been  supplied.  At  all  such  additions,  the 
flame  blazed  up  more  brightly,  and  the  chant  was 
more  wild  and  vigorous  than  ever.  At  length  it 
ceased  ;  and  in  an  instant,  every  woman  crouched 
down  around  the  stone  where  she  stood,  except  the 
one  who  seemed  to  act  as  priestess.  She  did  not  join 
in  the  chorus  of  the  others,  but  in  a  low  chant  of 
her  own  performed  some  separate  office.  She  now 
approached  the  maiden,  and  conducted  her  toward 
the  altar.  At  her  words,  the  damsel  bent  over  the 
heads  of  the  kneeling  women  separately,  and  her 
tears  fell  fast  as  she  murmured  in  their  several  ears. 
She  took  from  the  necks  of  each  her  strands  of  pearl. 
They  themselves  unbound  them  from  their  own  tresses, 
which  now  hung  down  mournfully,  of  great  length, 
from  every  shoulder.  The  pearls  were  collected  by 
the  priestess  and  laid  apart.  Our  Maroon,  from 
his  place  of  watch,  followed  with  keen  eyes,  and  saw 
where  she  laid  them.  The  women  now  receded. 
The  girl  embraced  them  each,  with  a  deep  sobbing, 
and  they  responded  with  mingling  sighs  and  songs, 
while  passing  out  of  the  chamber  in  which  they  left 
her  with  the  officiating  woman.  When  their  voices 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        271 

were  heard  only  faintly  from  the  sea-shore,  where 
they  had  now  assembled,  the  maiden  was  conducted 
to  the  altar-place  by  her  matron-like  companion. 
Her  mournful  utterance  announced  some  sadder  cere- 
monial. The  girl  answered  her  by  a  cry,  and  threw 
herself  at  her  feet  before  the  altar.  The  woman  knelt 
upon  one  knee.  The  head  of  the  maiden  was  sup- 
ported upon  the  other  from  which  the  long  black  hair 
depended,  half  shrouding  the  drapery  of  the  priestess. 
Very  tender  were  the  few  words  which  then  passed 
between  the  two.  The  girl  clasped  her  hands  together, 
and  her  tearful  eyes  were  full  of  the  sweetest  but  sad- 
dest resignation.  The  woman  smoothed  her  tresses 
out  with  her  fingers,  stooped  and  kissed  affectionately 
the  lips  of  the  child,  and  while  everything  betokened 
nothing  less  than  the  truest  sympathy,  and  the  most 
heartfelt  and  generous  affection  between  them,  what 
was  the  horror  of  our  Maroon— now  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  event — to  see  the  woman  possess  herself 
of  the  broad  knife  of  stone  which  lay  on  the  foot  of 
the  altar.  Timid  and  feeble  as  he  was  of  soul,  his 
fingers  clutched  his  knife  with  a  convulsive  resolution, 
which,  in  the  case  of  a  braver  spirit,  would  have  long 
before  declared  itself  in  action  ! 


272  THE  MAROON; 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE  moment  in  which  the  Indian  damsel  lay  thus 
prostrate,  and  at  the  mercy  of  one  who  seemed  about 
to  complete  the  rites  in  which  she  had  been  engaged, 
by  the  sacrifice  of  the  innocent  creature  in  her  grasp, 
was  a  moment  of  the  most  cruel  humiliation  to  the 
imbecile  Spaniard.  His  sensibilities  were  violently 
excited.  Every  sympathy  of  his  heart  was  awakened. 
His  better  nature,  his  human  training,  his  Christian 
teaching — such  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  acquire 
in  that  day  of  constant  war  and  rapine — were  all  ac- 
tive in  urging  him  to  adventure  his  own  life  in  saving 
her  who  seemed  about  to  perish  before  him.  She  too, 
so  young,  so  resigned,  and — not  the  least  consider- 
ation— so  really  beautiful.  But  the  necessary  nerve 
was  wanting  to  the  Maroon.  He  who  dared  not 
the  single  stroke,  though  prompted  by  the  woman  he 
professed  to  love,  when  it  would  have  saved  her  from 
shame,  and  himself  from  the  bitter  exile  which  he 
now  endured,  was  not  likely  to  exhibit  any  rashness, 
any  ordinary  courage,  though  with  such  a  threatening 
spectacle  of  death  before  him. 

Happily  for  humanity,  his  apprehensions  were  all 
idle.  The  meditated  sacrifice  in  which  the  priestess 
was  about  to  officiate,  contemplated  not  the  life,  but 
the  long  and  flowing  locks  of  the  damsel.  These 
were  severed  at  a  stroke,  and  hung  up  in  the  chamber, 
from  an  arrow,  the  shaft  of  which  was  made  to  pene- 


A  LEGEND  OP  THE  CARIBBEES.        273 

trate  a  crevice  in  the  rock.  Then  the  maiden  rose, 
and  taking  the  bunch  of  arrows  which  she  had  brought, 
she  snapped  them  in  twain  before  the  altar,  which  the 
matron  still  continued  to  supply  with  aromatic  gums 
and  fuel.  Some  further  ceremonies  were  performed — 
there  was  a  solemn  imposition  of  hands,  while  the 
virgin  knelt  before  the  priestess,  and  the  lips  of  the 
latter  were  glued  to  the  forehead  of  the  girl.  A 
brief  dialogue,  in  subdued  and  murmuring  tones, 
passed  between  them,  and  then  the  voices  of  both 
rose  in  a  wild,  sad  chant,  the  burden  of  which  was 
caught  up  by  the  voices  of  the  females  without.  One 
embrace  followed  the  subsidence  of  the  strain,  and 
the  matron  and  the  virgin  parted — the  former  hurry- 
ing from  the  cavern,  and  the  latter  sinking  down,  in 
an  agony  of  fear  and  grief,  before  the  fitful  blaze 
upon  the  altar. 

Lopez  de  Levya  drew  a  long  breath.  lie  began  to 
grow  courageous.  The  voices  of  the  women  without 
were  dying  away  in  the  distance.  Could  they  have 
retired  to  the  boat,  and  could  they  be  returning  to 
the  distant  shore  from  whence  they  came,  leaving  the 
maid  alone,  as  he  himself  had  been  left.  Her  evident 
sorrow  and  apprehension  declared  this  to  be  the  case. 
But  it  was  evident  that  no  such  feeling  moved  her 
abandonment  as  had  occasioned  his.  The  proofs' of  a 
deep  and  tender  interest  had  been  shown  her  to  the 
last.  He  had  heard  the  sighs,  the  moans,  the  mur- 
murs of  the  officiating  matron.  He  had  witnessed 
her  fond  caresses  of  the  damsel.  He  had  heard  with 
quivering  sensibilities,  the  wild  sad  chant  of  the  at- 


274  THE  MAROON; 

tending  women,  whose  song  still  feebly  fell  upon  his 
senses  from  without. 

The  scene  which  he  had  witnessed  was  a  religious 
ceremony.  But  what  did  it  contemplate  ?  Was  the 
maiden  thus  left  to  herself — and  to  him — destined  for 
a  sacrifice — to  perish  at  last,  before  the  altars  of 
some  strange  and  savage  divinity  ?  It  might  be  so ; 
but  certainly  no  such  purpose  was  designed  at  present, 
for  he  did  not  fail  to  perceive  that  an  ample  supply 
of  food  was  left  with  her,  sufficient  for  a  month's  con- 
sumption. Or,  was  she  destined,  herself,  to  be- 
come a  priestess,  officiating,  like  the  matron,  who  had 
left  her,  in  the  same  and  other  mysterious  rites,  here- 
after? This  was  the  more  probable  conjecture.  At 
least,  such  was  the  thought  to  which,  after  a  rapid 
mental  survey  of  probabilities,  our  Maroon  arrived. 
Perhaps  a  little  more  deliberation  might  have  rendered 
it  doubtful  whether  the  innumerable  signs  which  the 
walls  of  the  chamber  presented,  of  repeated  cere- 
monials like  the  present,  were  not  proofs  that  the 
proceeding  could  not  regard  any  such  appropriation 
of  the  neophyte.  It  was  a  ceremonial  evidently  com- 
mon to  the  tribe  or  nation.  It  was  one  through  which, 
at  a  certain  period,  each  virgin  had  to  pass.  It  was 
indeed,  a  dedicatory,  but  it  was  an  invocatory  service 
also.  We  may,  in  this  place,  briefly  declare  the  ob- 
ject of  the  ceremonial. 

Among  the  Caribbeans,  as  among  the  aborigines  of 
the  New  World  in  most  quarters,  both  sexes  were  dedi- 
cated, separately,  and  by  different  rites,  to  fortune. 
The  period  in  life  when  they  were  to  emerge  from  the 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  275 

salutary  restraints  of  the  parent,  and  to  be  left  to  the 
assertion  of  their  own  wits,  and  the  exercise  of  their 
own  intelligence,  was  that  chosen  in  which  to  solicit 
for  them  the  protection  of  the  gods,  who  should  confer 
upon  them  some  especial  spiritual  guide  and  guardian. 
To  propitiate  the  gods  for  this  favor — to  move  them 
to  an  indulgent  dispensation — to  secure  a  friendly  and 
favoring  protector,  and  to  inspire  the  young  with 
wisdom,  courage,  and  faithfulness,  were  the  objects  of 
the  ceremonial.  In  the  case  of  males,  they  were  thus 
consecrated  when  able  to  commence  the  labors  of  the 
chase.  They  were  subjected  to  severer  ordeals  than 
the  other  sex,  since  the  leading  desire,  with  them, 
was  their  proper  endowment  with  hardihood  and  cour- 
age. Long  abstinence  from  food,  exposure  to  cold, 
and  frequent  stratagems  by  which  to  alarm  them  and 
try  their  courage,  were  resorted  to  by  those  having 
charge  of  their  initiate.  The  maidens  were  more 
gently  entreated.  Isolation,  rather  than  exposure, 
was  the  influence  employed  upon  their  courage.  Food 
was  provided  them,  but  of  a  sort  rather  to  inflame  the 
fancies  than  the  blood.  This  was  to  be  chastened 
rather  than  exhilarated.  Roots  of  rare  efficacy,  the 
virtues  of  which  they  knew — herbs  which  assailed  the 
brain  and  the  nervous  system,  were  silently  mingled 
with  the  food  which  was  left  for  their  sustenance,  and 
the  very  fumes  of  the  aromatic  woods  and  gums  with 
which  they  were  appointed  to  feed  their  daily  and 
nightly  fires,  possessed  a  partially  intoxicating  effect 
upon  those  who  continued  to  inhale  them.  It  was 
while  under  such  influences  that  the  visions  of  the 


276  THE  MAROON; 

youth  were  to  be  observed  with  heed.  The  images 
that  were  most  frequent  in  their  dreams — the  scenes 
which  they  witnessed — the  voices  that  they  heard — 
the  laws  which  were  declared — these  were  to  be  the 
oracles  by  which  their  whole  succeeding  lives  were  to 
be  regulated.  By  these  the  young  warrior  was  to  be 
guided  in  the  chase  or  the  conflict,  and  the  young 
woman,  in  the  keeping  of  her  household,  the  training 
of  her  young,  and  the  exercise  of  her  sympathies  and 
tastes.  The  favorite  or  leading  aspect,  or  object,  in 
their  visions,  was  to  become  their  guiding  spirit  for- 
ever after.  It  was  customary  in  many  tribes,  perhaps 
in  most,  to  adopt  this  object  as  their  mark  or  sign  ; 
— and  this  was  the  totem,  inscribed  upon  the  arm  or 
breast — not  dissimilar  to  those  of  knighthood  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  drawn  from  favorite  objects  of  sight,  or 
the  events  most  conspicuous  in  their  lives  ;  with  this 
difference,  that,  in  Europe,  the  totem  was  inscribed 
upon  the  shield,  the  surcoat,  or  the  pennon — among 
the  savages  of  the  New  World,  upon  the  naked  person. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

NIGHT  came  on  in  the  vaulted  chamber  of  the  lovely 
isle,  occupied  only  by  the  Indian  damsel  and  the 
Maroon.  Without  all  was  silent,  except,  now  and 
then,  the  bark  of  the  marmozet  as  he  bounded  among 
the  cocoanut-trees  above.  Several  hours  had  elapsed 
since  the  sounds  of  the  wild  chant  of  the  women  had 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CAEIBBEES.        277 

failed  upon  his  ears,  yet  our  Spaniard  maintained  his 
place  of  hiding  with  religious  quietude.  Meanwhile, 
the  girl  fed  the  fires  upon  her  altar.  She  sat  upon  a 
rude  swelling  of  the  rocky  floor,  her  hands  folded  in 
her  lap,  and  the  ends  of  her  shortened  hair  resting 
upon  her  shoulders.  Her  form  was  rather  between 
the  Maroon  and  the  fire,  the  blaze  of  which,  as  she 
heightened  it  by  occasional  supplies  of  fuel,  made 
marvellously  distinct,  in  his  eyes,  the  exquisite  outline 
of  her  delicate  but  well-marked  profile.  And  thus  she 
sat,  and  such  was  her  only  office,  for  several  hours 
more. 

It  must  have  been  full  midnight,  when  our  Spaniard, 
who  had  not  slept  an  instant,  discovered  that  sleep 
had  seized  upon  the  senses  of  the  Indian  damsel. 
Her  form  subsided  into  an  attitude  favorable  to  rest. 
She  sank  upon  one  side,  her  head  resting  upon  a  sud- 
den elevation  of  the  floor,  which  conducted  to  the  niche 
which  seemed  to  have  been  employed  as  a  couch  on  pre- 
vious occasions,  and  where,  for  the  last  two  nights, 
Lopez  himself  had  taken  his  rest.  Her  breathing  was 
soft  and  regular.  It  denoted  a  calm  and  perfect 
sleep.  He  was  encouraged  and  gradually  withdrew 
from  his  place  of  concealment.  His  steps  were  cau- 
tiously taken.  He  drew  nigh  to  the  sleeper — sur- 
veyed her  with  a  keen  and  pleasant  interest ; — then, 
farther  to  be  sure,  he  stole  forth  into  the  antechamber 
of  the  vault,  and  gliding  cautiously,  maintaining  a 
vigilant  watch  all  the  while,  he  emerged  from  the 
cavern,  and  stood  upon  the  beach.  The  waters  of  the 
sea  had  gone  down.  The  gray  sands  were  quite  un- 
24 


278 

covered  for  a  long  stretch,  the  spot  being  wholly  bare 
upon  which  the  Indian  bark  had  anchored  during  the 
afternoon.  The  moon  was  high  in  heaven,  and  at  her 
full.  No  cloud  obscured  or  sullied  the  blue  serenity 
of  the  skies.  The  scene  was  eminently  and  wholly 
spiritual.  There  was  nothing  human  visible  in  the 
surrounding  aspects  of  ocean,  sky,  and  land.  Satis- 
fied of  this,  our  Maroon  returned,  with  rather  hurried 
footsteps,  to  the  cavern.  He  stole  back  cautiously, 
however,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  damsel.  She  still 
slept,  her  position  being  totally  unchanged.  But  the 
fire  had  grown  faint  upon  her  altars.  He  fed  it  with 
a  handful  of  the  fuel  that  lay  contiguous.  He  knelt 
beside  her,  and  in  the  reviving  blaze,  he  examined 
closely  the  innocent  features,  which  he  had  thought 
so  very  sweet  and  beautiful  in  the  before  imperfect 
light.  The  nearer  survey  did  not  lessen  her  loveli- 
ness in  his  sight.  Her  closed  eyes,  and  her  slightly 
parted  lips,  were  studies  for  the  sculptor,  they  were 
so  delicate  in  their  structure,  yet  so  admirably  defined. 
The  features  might  have  been  thought  Castilian.  The 
forehead  was  high  but  narrow,  the  nose  good,  and  the 
neck  moderately  large  and  smooth,  rising  into  the 
gentle  swell  of  a  bosom  which  had  not  yet  learned  to 
heave  with  other  than  happy  childish  emotions.  One 
of  her  hands,  the  fingers  of  which  were  long  and  taper, 
had  stolen  to  her  breast,  the  partial  drapery  of  which 
it  seemed  to  grasp.  The  other  lay  at  her  side,  the, 
fingers  closing  upon  a  handful  of  wood  intended  for 
the  fire.  Thus  she  slept. 

The  Maroon  stooped  and  pressed  his  lips  closely 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        279 

upon  hers,  she  sighed  deeply,  but  moved  not.  Again 
he  repeated  the  kiss,  and  her  eyes  opened  upon  him. 
They  closed  involuntarily.  Again  they  opened,  and 
now  with  a  wild,  appealing  expression.  He  had 
slightly  retreated,  as  he  found  her  about  to  waken. 
He  had  regained  his  feet.  He  stood  somewhat  apart, 
the  altar  being  in  some  degree  between  them. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  personal  appearance  of 
Lopez  de  Levya  as  being  pleasing  to  the  eye  of  wo- 
man. At  this  moment  it  looked  manly  as  well  as 
pleasing ;  and,  in  the  doubtful  light  of  the  cavern, 
with  his  form  erect,  his  features  half  shaded  by  the 
gloom,  his  knife  at  his  girdle,  and  a  rich  red  scarf 
about  his  waist,  he  might  have  served  for  the  model  of 
one  of  those  brigands,  a  compound  of  Orson  and  Ado- 
nis, whom  we  see  so  commonly  in  Italian  pictures. 
The  impression  was  not  unfavorable  upon  the  eyes  of 
the  Indian  damsel.  But  her  senses  had  evidently 
mingled  the  aspect  before  her  with  the  object  in  her 
dream — the  purpose  of  her  watch  and  ordeal — the 
beneficent  creature  vouchsafed  by  her  savage  gods, 
from  whose  guidance  her  future  destiny  was  to  be 
shaped  and  governed.  The  instincts  of  the  Spaniard 
were  sufficiently  acute  to  see  the  impression  that  he 
had  made,  and  to  conjecture,  in  some  measure,  its  ori- 
gin. He  was  well  aware  that  the  first  impression  of  the 
European  upon  the  aborigines  was  that  of  a  superior 
being.  The  devout  appealing  eyes  of  the  damsel — her 
hands  crossed  upon  her  breast — satisfied  our  Maroon 
that  she  held  him  to  be  so.  He  advanced  a  single  step, 
he  smiled  on  her  kindly,  he  raised  one  hand  upward  to 


280 

heaven,  while  he  placed  the  other  on  his  heart.  She 
followed  all  his  movements  with  others  like  them. 
Her  hand  was  lifted  to  heaven,  and  carried  to  her 
breast.  She  too  smiled — the  smile  of  innocent  hope, 
that  might  have  brought  with  it  warmer  assurances. 
He  spoke  sweetly  and  tenderly,  but  the  words  were 
lost  upon  incapable  but  not  unheeding  senses.  She 
shook  her  head  with  a  mournfulness  of  look  that  told 
him,  plain  as  words  could  speak,  how  sorrowful  she 
was  that  she  knew  not  what  he  said.  But  he  smiled 
encouragingly,  and  resorted  once  more  to  signs  to 
assure  her  of  his  affection.  These  she  understood. 

The  language  of  the  heart  is  a  very"  universal  one. 
Charity  and  sympathy  may  speak  and  be  understood, 
though  they  have  not  a  word  in  common  with  the 
hearer,  from  the  centre  to  the  pole.  She  answered 
his  signs.  She  pointed  to  the  fires  before  her.  She 
threw  a  fresh  supply  of  fuel  upon  the  blaze,  then  ris- 
ing to  her  knees,  knelt  before  him,  and  crossed  her 
hands  upon  her  bosom.  He  stooped,  and  took  her  in 
his  arms.  She  would  have  receded,  but  he  held  her 
tenderly  in  his  grasp,  and  once  more  pressed  his  lips 
upon  hers.  She  sank  submissive  in  his  embrace.  She 
spoke  but  a  single  sentence,  but  one  of  its  words 
smote  his  ear  like  a  familiar  accent.  He  had  picked 
up  a  few  of  the  Caribbean  phrases  from  Spaniards  who 
had  been  among  this  people.  The  girl  had  desig- 
nated him  as  "the  good  White  Spirit."  The  word 
"spirit"  had  become  a  frequent  one  in  the  intercourse 
of  the  Jesuit  missionaries  with  the  heathen.  God, 
and  love,  and  heaven,  good,  bad,  the  sky,  the  sea,  the 


A  LEGEND  OP  THE  CARIBBEES.  281 

boat,  Castile,  white  and  red  man — these,  and  several 
other  words  had,  from  the  communion  of  the  Span- 
iards with  the  tribes  of  the  Caribbean  Sea,  grown  to 
be  a  tolerably  common  property  with  the  two  races. 
Lopez  rapidly  ran  over  in  the  ears  of  the  girl  all  of 
this  description  which  he  found  it  easy  to  remember 
on  the  instant.  Some  of  these  she  repeated  after  him 
with  ready  acquiescence.  Again  she  described  him  as 
the  good  white  spirit — her  good  white  spirit — and  he 
now  understood  her. 

He  did  not  disabuse  her.  He  feared  to  forfeit  her 
reverence,  in  seeking  to  awake  a  humbler  emotion; 
and  as  the  master  of  her  destiny,  a  celestial  visitant, 
provided  for  her  guidance,  he  proceeded  to  enforce 
her  affections.  He  placed  himself  beside  her — toge- 
ther they  supplied  the  altar  with  fuel  and  incense,  and 
when  he  kissed  her  lips,  she  crossed  her  arms  upon 
her  breast,  and  submitted  with  delighted  reverence. 

It  was  the  benevolent  spirit  whose  favor  she  im- 
plored, who  then,  in  his  most  gracious  aspect,  presented 
himself  in  compliance  with  her  invocations.  She  had 
been  taught  to  believe  that  he  was  difficult  of  approach 
— slow  to  be  won — reluctant  to  appear; — that  it  re- 
quired earnest  and  long-continued  devotions,  and  a 
painful  and  protracted  vigil.  How  fortunate  was  she 
among  her  sex,  that,  in  her  instance,  he  had  departed 
from  his  wonted  severity! — that,  instead  of  presenting 
himself,  as  he  was  reported  frequently  to  have  done 
— in  harsh  and  ungenial  aspects — in  the  shape  of 
bird,  or  beast,  or  reptile — he  had  assumed  his 
noblest  attributes  of  form,  and  put  on  features  not 
24* 


282  THE  MAROON; 

only  of  the  highest,  but  of  the  tenderest  character. 
Verily,  she  was  the  favored  among  women !  The 
tones  of  the  Spaniard's  voice  were  to  her  sounds  of 
the  sweetest  music  from  the  Caribbean  heaven.  His 
smile  was  that  glance  of  the  morning  or  of  the  even- 
ing, when  the  brightness  is  equally  rare  and  benig- 
nant; and,  when  his  hand  rested  upon  her  cheek  or 
neck,  she  felt  the  thrill  of  an  emotion  through  all  her 
veins,  such  as  she  had  been  taught  to  believe  was 
vouchsafed  only  to  the  favored  few,  the  select  of  the 
Caribbean  Elysium.  Their  eyes  took  part  in  their 
constant  intercourse,  and  never  had  Lopez  looked  or 
spoken  with  so  successful  eloquence.  "  Though  she 
comprehended  but  few  of  his  words,  yet  nothing  was 
thrown  away  of  all  that  fell  from  his  lips.  As  at  the 
first,  in  the  primal  hour  of  creation,  the  speech  which 
Heaven  bestowed  upon  its  creatures  was  that  of  love, 
so  love  constitutes  the  basis  of  that  ancient  language 
which  it  is  still  so  easy  for  the  heart  to  comprehend. 
Assisted  by  this  heart-manual,  it  was  easy  for  Lopez 
to  make  his  Spanish  and  her  Indian  words  subservient 
to  their  gradual  use;  and  ere  they  sunk  exhausted  into 
the  mutual  arms  of  sleep  that  night,  they  had  com- 
menced a  course  of  study  quite  as  rapid  as  the  Robert- 
sonian  method,  by  which  a  modern  or  ancient  dialect 
is  to  be  mastered  in  six  lessons. 

The  bridal  hour  of  the  two  exiles  thus  strangely 
brought  together,  promised  to  be  as  happy  in  its  pro- 
gress, as  the  destiny  in  which  it  had  its  origin  was 
solemn  and  peculiar.  With  the  dawn,  the  two  awak- 
ened to  neither  repining  nor  repentance.  Life  had 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  283 

suddenly  put  on  her  loveliest  aspects  to  both.  The 
Spaniard  was  no  longer  lonesome  in  his  solitude,  and 
the  damsel  was  happy  in  the  faith  that  she  was 
favored  among  women,  by  the  very  deity  to  whom  her 
sex  devotes  the  most  dutiful  and  earnest  solicitations. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  passion  thus  begun,  and  sanctioned,  as  it 
would  seem,  by  an  especial  Providence,  was  neither 
slow  to  ripen  nor  of  modified  character.  The  very 
isolation  of  their  abode,  separated  from  all  the  world 
beside,  tended  to  compel  their  affections  eagerly,  and 
into  the  same  channel.  But  it  was  not  long  before 
the  Indian  damsel  learned  to  comprehend  the  purely 
human  character  of  her  companion.  Her  very  love 
produced  this  discovery,  since  it  could  only  exist  in 
its  natural  intensity  in  the  untutored  mind,  in  the 
comparative  loss  of  its  veneration.  The  young  Span- 
iard no  longer  repined  at  his  desolate  condition.  The 
fate  to  which  he  resigned  himself  had  received  its  con- 
solations, and  in  the  first  few  days  of  his  happiness, 
if  he  thought  at  all  of  his  late  comrades,  it  was  with 
something  of  fear  and  misgiving,  lest  they  should 
come  and  tear  him  away  from  an  abode  in  which  he 
was  equally  free  and  happy. 

The  morning  after  their  first  meeting,  he  stole 
from  her  side  while  she  yet  slept,  and  from  the  ante- 
chamber of  the  cavern  awakened  her  with  a  soft  sweet 


284  THE  MAROON; 

strain  from  his  guitar.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
touched  the  strings  since  the  instrument  had  been 
hung  about  his  neck  in  mockery.  She  started  from  the 
mossy  niche  where  she  lay,  and  lighting  anew  the  fire 
upon  her  altars,  sank  before  it  in  the  attitude  of 
prayer.  A  delirious  delight  was  visible  upon  her 
countenance  as  the  music  reached  her  ears,  and  when 
Lopez  looked  in  upon  her,  she  bore  the  expression  of 
one  whose  whole  soul  was  lifted  with  a  sense  of  the 
Divine  favor.  He  made  the  guitar  the  instrument  for 
her  education.  She  had  the  sweetest  voice  herself, 
and  for  his  music,  gave  him  wild  ballads  of  her  own 
people,  of  which  he  could  appreciate  the  music  only. 
But  their  words  were  rapidly  interchanged.  The 
lessons  were  constant,  and  conveyed  through  numerous 
media  of  which  the  teacher  in  civilized  life  can  have 
no  notion.  Life  itself  depended  on  their  progress, 
and  when  this  is  the  case,  the  tuition  must  be  marvel- 
lously rapid — love  as  life — their  daily  sports,  their 
mutual  progress — the  exercise  of  their  tastes — their 
consultations  upon  sea,  and  sky,  and  grove,  the  pas- 
sage of  the  wild  bird — the  bound  of  the  marmozet — 
the  gathering  of  fruit — the  song,  the  dance,  the  sigh, 
the  smile — all  these  provoked  their  lessons  and  exer- 
cised their  industry  in  acquisition.  It  was  not  long 
before  they  declared  themselves  in  syllables  that  took 
the  place  of  simple  sounds — not  long  before  the  teacher 
could  listen  with  delight  to  the  childish  prattler  at  his 
side,  whose  accents  would  have  seemed  uncouth  in  the 
ears  of  critics  only.  Day  by  day,  teaching  and  taught, 
the  horizon  of  their  hopes  and  affections  sensibly  ex- 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  285 

panded  before  their  minds,  and  the  damsel  did  not 
cease  to  be  less  innocent  because  she  had  learned  not 
only  to  understand  her  own  emotions,  but  to  compre- 
hend the  real  nature  of  the  companion  from  whom  she 
had  learned  the  first  great  lesson  of  the  woman  heart. 
She  was  not  less  happy  that,  in  losing  a  God,  she  had 
found  a  lover  and  a  Lord ! 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE  world  for  a  brief  season  seemed  wholly  surren- 
dered to  them.  They  lived  for  each  other  only  ;  and 
as  they  saw  no  other  forms,  so  they  forgot  for  a  time, 
that  they  were  to  be  disturbed  by  other  beings  of  a 
nature  like  their  own.  Lo'pez  had  no  hopes — shall 
we  call  them  fears  ? — that  the  Dian  de  Burgos  would 
ever  again  appear  to  seek  him  out  in  his  place  of 
exile.  He  knew  how  serious  and  how  terrible  always 
were  the  jokes  of  his  late  tyrant,  and  never  looked 
for  his  repentance.  Nor  did  the  poor  Araaya — such 
was  the  name  of  the  damsel — dream  that  her  Carib- 
bean kindred  would  ever  sunder  a  union  so  marvel- 
lously wrought  by  Heaven.  Her  barbarous  rites  were 
neglected  in  the  prompt  realization  of  her  dreams. 
This  was  due  in  great  measure  to  the  teachings  of  the 
Maroon.  Already  had  he  begun  to  bestow  upon 
her  some  of  his  theology — crude  and  selfish  as  it  was. 
The  Agnus  Dei  which  he  put  into  her  hands,  was 
quite  as  frequently  an  object  of  her  entreaty  as  it 


286  THE  MAROON; 

was  of  his.  Their  supplications,  at  morning  and  at 
evening,  to  the  Virgin,  were  twined  together ;  and  it 
must  be  confessed  that,  of  the  two,  the  poor  pagan 
damsel  was  much  more  earnest  in  her  prayers  than 
the  habitual  Christian. 

He  taught  her  other  lessons.  Already  had  he 
begun  to  conduct  her  fingers  among  the  strings  of  his 
guitar,  and  she,  rejoicing  at  the  merry  tinkle  which 
she  produced,  soon  promised  to  acquire  its  language. 
The  instrument  was  constantly  in  her  keeping,  except 
when  she  summoned  him  to  perform  upon  it.  Then 
she  sat  beside  him,  on  the  edge  of  the  great  ocean, 
and  while  the  waters  rolled  and  tumbled  toward  their 
feet,  she  listened  to  his  chant — his  fierce  ballads  of 
Spanish  chivalry — comprehending  but  little  of  the 
story,  but  feeling  all  the  sweetness  of  the  music,  the 
more  perhaps  that  the  words  were  mysterious  and 
vague. 

But  their  sports  were  not  always  of  this  subdued 
order,  though  they  were  scarcely  less  romantic — such, 
at  least,  as  she  now  taught  and  encouraged  him  to 
practise.  The  sea  was  scarcely  an  object  of  terror 
to  the  practised  swimmers  of  the  Caribbean  Isles. 
Amaya,  like  all  the  damsels  of  her  people,  had  been 
accustomed  to  embrace  its  billows  from  her  infancy. 
She  soon  taught  the  more  apprehensive  Lopez  to  pur- 
sue her  in  the  waves.  At  the  fall  of  the  tide  she  led 
him  off  among  the  rocks,  whose  heads  at  such  periods 
were  distinctly  visible.  Here,  resting  on  their  dark 
gray  summits,  he  beheld  her,  with  a  terror  in  which 
she  did  not  share,  leap  down  into  the  boiling  black 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        287 

abysses,  and  disappear  wholly  from  his  sight.  Before 
he  had  yet  recovered  from  his  alarm,  she  reappeared, 
bringing  up  with  her  the  peculiar  oyster,  whose 
immedicable  wounds  give  birth  to  the  beautiful  pearl 
which  is  so  much  valued,  though  not  in  the  same 
degree,  by  Indian  and  European.  After  this  disco- 
very, our  Maroon  encouraged  the  sport  which  had 
first  alarmed  his  fears.  He,  too,  acquired  courage 
from  cupidity,  and,  being  no  bad  swimmer,  he 
learned  to  follow  her  into  the  grim  recesses  of  the 
rocks,  when  the  seas  were  at  repose.  He  reserved  to 
himself  the  opening  of  the  valves,  so  that  he  extri- 
cated the  fruit  from  their  embrace,  without  subjecting 
it  to  injury.  Great  was  the  wealth  which  he  thus 
acquired,  to  say  nothing  of  the  ancient  treasures  of 
the  cavern. 

But  these  treasures,  which  he  had  not  sought,  were 
valueless  where  he  was.  His  possessions,  so  unsuited 
to  his  present  condition,  first  taught  him  to  repine. 
When  he  looked  upon  his  unprofitable  stores,  his 
thoughts  immediately  yearned  for  the  native  land,  in 
which  they  had  made  him  famous.  With  this  recol- 
lection, his  heart  saddened  within  him.  He  looked, 
earnestly  along  the  ocean  waste  for  some  sign  of  his 
countrymen.  He  looked  with  a  momentary  indiffer- 
ence upon  the  sweet,  wild,  and  artless  creature,  who 
gambolled  before  his  eyes,  or  crouched  in  confidence 
beside  him.  Her  keen  glance  beheld  these  changes. 
No  change  in.  his  aspect  ever  escaped  her  vigilance. 
At  such  moments,  she  would  incline  herself  timidly 
toward  him — would  draw  his  attention  by  little  arti- 


288  ,.,.«..;    THE  MAROON; 

fices — would  appeal  to  him  in  awkward  Castilian, 
which  insensibly  glided  into  her  native  Caribbean 
tongue  ; — the  broken  accents  finally  acquiring  empha- 
sis as  they  concluded  in  some  sweet  and  foreign  ditty. 
Sometimes,  with  a  playful  fondness,  she  would  assail 
his  melancholy  by  sudden  plunges  into  the  billows, 
striking  out  for  the  cluster  of  little  rocks  ;  hiding  in 
whose  hollows,  she  would  beguile  him  with  a  wild 
strain  of  her  people,  or  in  appealing  fancies  of  her 
own,  which  might  have  found  a  fitting  translation  in 
such  a  ballad  as  the  following : — 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  CAEIB  DAMSEL. 

i. 

Come,  seek  the  ocean's  depths  with  me, 
For  there  are  joys  beneath  the  sea  ; 
Joys,  that  when  all  is  dark  above, 
Make  all  below  a  home  of  love  ! 

ii. 

In  hollow  bright  and  fountain  clear, 
Lo  !  thousand  pearl  await  us  there  ; 
And  amber  drops  that  sea-birds  weep 
In  sparry  caves  along  the  deep. 

in. 

A  crystal  chamber  there  I  know, 
Where  never  yet  did  sunshaft  go ; 
The  soft  moss  from  the  rocks,  I  take, 
Of  this  our  nuptial  couch  to  make. 

IV. 

There,  as  thou  yieldest  on  my  breast, 
My  songs  shall  soothe  thy  happy  rest — 
Such  songs  as  still  our  prophets  hear, 
When  winds  and  stars  are  singing  near. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        289 

v. 

These  tell  of  climes,  whose  deep  delight 
Knows  never  change  from  day  to  night ; 
Where,  if  we  love,  the  blooms  and  flowers, 
And  fruits — shall  evermore  be  ours. 

VT. 

Oh  !  yield  thee  to  the  hope  I  bring ; 
Believe  the  truth  I  feel  and  sing  ; 
Nor  teach  thy  spirit  thus  to  weep 
Thy  Christian  home  beyond  the  deep. 

VII. 

'Tis  little— ah !  too  well  I  know, 
The  poor  Amaya  may  bestow — 
But  if  a  heart  that's  truly  thine, 
Be  worthy  thee,  0,  cherish  mine  ! 

VIII. 

My  life  is  in  thy  look — for  thee 

I  bloom,  as  for  the  sun  the  tree  ; 

My  hopes — when  thou  forget'st  thy  woes — 

Unfold,  as  flowers  when  winter  goes. 

IX. 

And  though,  as  our  traditions  say, 
There  bloom  the  worlds  of  endless  day, 
I  would  not  care  to  seek  the  sky, 
If  there  thy  spirit  did  not  fly. 

It  was  impossible  even  for  a  heart  so  selfish  as  that 
of  our  Maroon,  wholly  to  resist  a  confidence  so  sweet 
and  touching.  The  wild  grace  of  her  action,  the 
spiritual  delicacy  of  her  love,  the  delightful  compan- 
ionship with  which  she  cheered  his  solitude — all  suc- 
ceeded, in  the  absence  of  any  absolute  temptations, 
to  secure  his  continued  devotion  to  her  charms. 

But  a  change  was  destined  to  cast  its  shadow  over 
their  otherwise  happy  dreams.  Three  weeks  of  de- 
25 


290  THE  MAROON; 

light,  with  little  interval  and  scarcely  any  respite,  had 
passed  since  they  first  knew  each  other.  No  doubt  of 
the  security,  as  well  as  transport,  of  her  condition, 
assailed  the  heart  of  the  Indian  damsel ;  and  if  the 
Spaniard  ever  thought  of  his  home,  it  was  only  as 
one  of  those  vexing  fancies,  which,  as  he  could 
scarcely  hope  to  realize  it,  it  was  but  childish  to  en- 
courage. He  made  the  most  of  his  present  happi- 
ness, and  resigned  himself  to  the  possession  of  Amaya, 
with  the  more  satisfaction,  indeed,  since,  in  a  choice 
among  a  thousand,  she  still  would  most  probably  have 
been  the  object  of  his  preference.  But  he  did  not 
the  less  regard  the  dowry  which  she  -brought  him. 
He  subjected  his  treasure  to  daily  examination,  and, 
when  the  weather  served,  to  daily  increase.  His 
necessities  made  him  a  miser.  He  did  not  the  less 
enjoy  the  treasure,  which  it  seemed  he  could  never 
spend. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

BUT  a  new  prospect  of  freedom,  in  this  respect, 
was  about  to  open  upon  him.  One  morning,  whilst 
our  wealthy  Maroon  was  still  engaged  in  the  cleansing 
and  assorting  of  his  treasure,  close  in  his  cavern — 
he  was  surprised  by  the  sudden  and  unexpected  en- 
trance of  Amaya,  with  words  of  wonder  on  her 
tongue,  and  looks  of  terror  in  her  face.  He  hastily 
put  his  pearls  from  sight,  and  hurried  with  her  to  the 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  291 

entrance  of  the  cavern.  There,  in  the  sea-monster 
which  alarmed  her  with  a  nameless  fear,  he  beheld  an 
object  of  scarcely  less  terror  to  himself.  This  was 
an  European  vessel.  It  might — it  must  be  a  Span- 
iard— but  it  was  still  at  too  great  a  distance  to  en- 
able him  to  solve  his  doubts,  or  to  relieve  or  increase 
his  apprehensions.  It  was  evidently  approaching  his 
islet ;  and  for  what  visitor,  other  than  Velasquez, 
should  he  look  ? 

In  a  secure  cover,  on  the  top  of  his  cavern,  our 
Maroon,  with  the  trembling  Amaya  beside  him, 
watched  the  course  of  the  stranger.  The  Indian  girl 
beheld  the  anxiety  of  her  companion — to  describe  the 
feeling  at  his  heart,  embodied  in  his  looks  and  actions, 
by  its  gentlest  name — and  her  own  terrors  increased 
accordingly.  In  the  brief  space  of  time  between  the 
first  appearance  of  the  vessel,  and  his  discovery  of 
her  true  character,  Lopez  de  Levya  rapidly  ran  over 
in  his  mind  the  prospects  of  his  condition — the  proba- 
ble object  of  the  Dian  de  Burgos,  and  the  effect  of 
this  return,  upon  his  fortunes.  What  had  he  to  hope 
from  Velasquez,  or  the  implacable  Juan,  his  rival  ? 
What  motive,  but  that  of  mockery  and  a  cruel  curi- 
osity, would  have  brought  either  of  them  back  to  the 
spot  where  they  had  marooned  him  ?  And  should 
they  search  for  him,  what  was  his  hope  of  concealment? 
He  could  hide  from  the  Caribbeans,  who  had  no  sus- 
picion of  any  presence  but  their  own — but  from  the 
people  of  the  Dian  de  Burgos  there  was  no  conceal- 
ment. They  would  search  the  island — they  would 
discover  the  cavern,  and  not  one  of  its  crevices  could 


292  THE  MAROON; 

be  made  safe  against  their  penetrating  eyes  or  their 
probing  lances. 

A  cold  sweat  covered  the  limbs  of  the  miserable 
creature,  as  his  rapid  thoughts  coursed  over  the  whole 
ground  of  his  condition.  And  yet,  it  will  scarcely  be 
believed  that,  thus  doubtful  of  his  own  fate,  he  could 
yet  think  of  concealing  his  newly-gotten  treasure. 
He  hurried  back  into  his  cave,  counselling  Amaya  still 
to  maintain  her  watch  upon  the  stranger.  In  secret, 
he  toiled  to  place  his  pearls  in  security.  The  crevice 
which  let  in  the  light  on  one  side  the  vault,  he  busily 
crammed  with  the  soft  moss  and  leaves  taken  from  the 
couch  in  which  he  had  slept.  The  light  being  excluded, 
he  placed  his  baskets  of  treasure  along  the  ledge, 
and  concealed  them  in  like  manner.  Nothing  but  the 
closest  search,  under  the  stimulating  influence  of  a 
suspicion  that  something  was  concealed,  could  have 
led  to  the  discovery  of  his  possessions.  There  was 
no  way  of  hiding  himself  in  the  same  manner ;  and, 
full  of  the  most  horrible  apprehensions,  he  joined 
Amaya  upon  the  eminence. 

It  was  now  necessary  to  think  of  her.  Should  Ve- 
lasquez suspect  the  treasure — should  Juan  obtain  sight 
of  her,  or  any  of  the  Spaniards — she  would  be  torn 
from  his  arms  with  unscrupulous  violence.  To  con- 
ceal her,  it  was  necessary  that  the  cave  should  be  kept 
from  their  knowledge.  He  conducted  her  into  its  re- 
cesses. He  showed  her  where  he  himself  had  been 
hidden,  and  easily  persuaded  her  to  seek  shelter  in  its 
dusky  recesses.  She  might  hope  to  escape  unnoticed, 
even  if  the  cave  were  penetrated ;  but  her  safety, 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  293 

should  the  bark  be  the  Dian  de  Burgos,  lay  only  in 
showing  himself.  Upon  this  policy,  still  trembling  to 
encounter  the  cruel  Velasquez  and  insidious  and  hateful 
Juan,  the  Maroon  resolved.  He  continued  his  watch 
in  secrecy,  though  passing  from  copse  to  copse ;  he 
left  the  neighborhood  of  his  cavern,  as  the  chewit  flies 
always  from  the  spot  where  her  young  are  hidden. 

The  vessel  approached  that  part  of  the  island  where 
he  had  been  landed.  This  increased  his  fears  that 
she  was  that  of  his  tyrant.  If  he  came  to  mock,  it 
was  the  game  of  Lopez  to  implore  and  seem  repentant. 
If  to  pardon,  it  was  his  policy  rather  to  appear  surly, 
and  provoke  his  enemy  to  continued  hostility  ; — for, 
though  anxious  to  reach  Spain  with  his  treasure,  yet 
our  Maroon  well  knew  that,  with  Juan  or  Velasquez 
as  a  master,  the  very  suspicion  of  his  great  posses- 
sions would  be  fatal  to  his  life.  Better,  then,  to  de- 
lay the  day  of  his  restoration,  than  peril  everything 
on  a  hope  so  doubtful.  But,  in  truth,  Lopez  de  Levya 
was  not  in  a  condition  of  mind  to  resolve  on  any 
policy.  He  was  now,  as  he  had  ever  been  before,  the 
creature  of  events ! 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THESE,  for  once  at  least,  proved  favorable  to  his 
fortunes.     We  have  already  detailed  the  fearful  cir- 
cumstances which  had  changed  the  dynasty  on  board 
the  Dian  de  Burgos.     Linares  and  Maria  de  Pacheco 
25* 


294  THE  MAROON; 

were  now  the  masters,  but  the  former  had  no  control 
over  the  proud  intelligent  spirit  by  whom  the  whole 
proceeding  had  been  counselled.  He  was  a  mere 
seaman — a  bold,  strong  man — who,  conscious  of  his 
own  deficiencies,  was  not  unwilling  to  supply  them 
from  the  stores  of  one  who  had  so  much  identified  her 
fortunes  with  his  own.  She  asked  for  little  in  return, 
and  that  he  was  disposed  to  accord.  He  was  the 
captain  of  the  ship,  but  she  was  the  guiding  spirit. 
He  did  not  seek  her  affections.  On  this  point — indul- 
gent, perhaps,  on  all  others — she  had  shown  herself 
equally  resentful  and  inflexible.  But  it  will  suffice 
for  us  that  they  understood  each  other,  and  that 
Linares  lent  himself  to  her  project  of  rescuing  Lopez. 
The  latter  had  but  little  esteem  among  the  seamen, 
but  he  had  been  harmless,  was  really  gentle  in  his 
nature  in  proportion  as  he  was  timid,  and  his  cruel 
punishment  had  won  their  pity  and  their  sympathies. 
The  sailor  of  that  day  looked  upon  the  maroon  as 
doomed  to  a  much  worse  punishment  than  death ! 

Impatient  on  the  prow  of  the  Dian  de  Burgos,  stood 
the  proud  but  anxious  woman,  as  the  ship  approached 
the  shore.  Concealed  among  a  cluster "  of  young 
palms,  Lopez  beheld  her  ;  and,  in  the  position  which 
she  held,  her  eager  attitude  and  outstretched  hand, 
he  at  once  inferred  some  great  change  in  her  fortunes 
and  his  own.  His  heart  was  instantly  strengthened. 
He  came  forth  from  his  hiding-place,  and  the  ship, 
dropping  her  anchors,  Maria  de  Pacheco  was  the  first 
to  descend  into  the  boat  which  now  hurried  to  the 
shore.  We  need  not  attempt  to  depict  her  raptures  or 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  295 

his  own.  In  her  case,  they  were  those  of  a  strong 
impetuous  nature — her  very  fondness  being  linked 
with  an  arrogance  of  will,  which  rather  compelled 
and  commanded,  than  solicited  affection  in  return. 
The  submissive  spirit  of  the  Maroon  did  not  dare  to 
withhold  the  expression  of  a  joy,  and  the  declaration 
of  an  attachment,  beyond  any  which  he  possibly  could 
feel.  Perhaps,  of  the  two  persons,  there  was  much 
more  in  the  gentle  and  dependent  nature  of  Amaya, 
to  persuade  him  into  love,  than  in  that  of  the  impe- 
rious woman  whom  he  had  certainly  learned  to  fear. 
But  she  brought  with  her  something  more  than  the 
poor  Indian  girl  could  offer.  Her  coming  promised 
him  a  restoration  to  his  country,  and  the  privilege  of 
growing  famous  in  the  use  of  his  Caribbean  treasures. 
The  very  dowry  of  Amaya  was  hostile  to  her  claims. 
Of  this  dowry — of  Amaya  herself — he  religiously 
forbore  to  whisper  aught  to  the  proud  woman  who  stood 
beside  him,  and  who  naturally  spoke  and  thought  as 
if  she  were  as  much  the  mistress  of  his  heart  as  she 
was  of  his  fate.  She  soon  told  him  all  her  story,  and  he 
revealed  such  portions  of  his  as  might  satisfy  her  in- 
quiries without  provoking  any  doubts.  He  described 
the  beauties  of  his  islet.  He  showed  her  where  he 
had  often  slept,  beneath  the  palms.  He  gathered  for 
her  his  fresh  and  luscious  fruits,  and  in  the  delight 
and  wonder  with  which  she  beheld  this  new  paradise, 
and  in  the  happy  consciousness  of  the  attainment  of 
all  for  which  she  had  striven,  at  such  fearful  sacrifice 
of  pride  and  feminine  feeling,  she  yielded  herself  up 
to  the  sweet  and  innocent  attractions  which  gathered 


296  THE  MAROON;* 

around  her.  It  was  with  a  vague  feeling  of  terror 
that  he  heard  her  declare  her  purpose  to  explore  his 
empire,  and  to  see,  for  herself,  the  beautiful  retreats 
and  resources  which  had  so  singularly  fallen  to  his 
possession. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE  situation  of  our  Maroon  was  one  of  consider- 
able difficulty.  There  was  no  pretext  by  which  he 
could  avoid  the  contemplated  exploration  of  his  islet 
by  the  woman  who  was  the  mistress  of  his  fate,  and, 
as  she  naturally  enough  assumed,  of  his  affections  also. 
What  had  she  not  perilled  for  those  affections  ?  The 
conviction  of  her  own  sacrifices — the  belief  that  she 
had  saved  him  from  a  cruel  destiny,  and  that  he  felt 
the  profoundest  gratitude  for  her  love — had  rendered 
her  more  subdued,  and  gentle  of  tone  and  carriage, 
than  he  had  ever  before  seen  her.  She  had  no  longer 
to  contend  with  the  brutal  passions  of  Velasquez  or 
the  subtle  and  insolent  spirit  of  his  nephew.  There 
was  no  influence  now  to  combat  her  imperious  will, 
and  to  oppose  itself  to  the  exercise  of  her  own  pas- 
sions. She  had  won  the  fearful  game  for  which  she 
had  played,  and  she  might  well  give  herself  a  brief 
respite  after  the  contest.  The  sweet  and  balmy  cli- 
mate of  the  islet,  the  picturesque  beauty  of  its  aspects 
— its  delicious  fruits — the  novelty  of  such  an  abode 
— and,  above  all,  that  romantic  passion  for  solitude — 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  297 

with  a  companion — which  accompanies  the  fresher 
sensibilities  of  youth — all  tended  to  excite  in  Maria 
de  Pacheco  the  desire  which  she  expressed,  at  least,  to 
dream  away  a  single  night  on  the  lonely  domain  of 
the  Maroon.  Her  early  career  in  the  haunts  of 
the  gypsy,  was  recalled  to  memory ;  and  she  longed  to 
realize  anew,  the  wild  sense  of  pleasure  which  her 
passionate  childhood  had  felt,  dreaming  beneath  the 
arch  of  heaven,  and  gazing  away  long  lapses  of  the 
night,  in  mute  communion  with  the  sadly  bright,  down- 
looking  stars.  Here,  in  a  solitude  which  her  lover 
had  maintained  for  near  a  month,  she  might  surely 
rest  one  night  in  safety.  The  boat  might  return  to 
the  ship — nay,  should  return,  and  she  should  share, 
for  that  night,  with  Lopez,  the  sovereignty  of  the 
island. 

"They  shall  maroon  me  also,  Lopez." 

"  They  may  !"  was  his  suggestion. 

"  Nay,  I  fear  not.  Linares  is  faithful  to  me.  He 
cannot  well  do  without  me." 

"  But  he  may  be  blown  off  with  a  tempest.  They 
are  fierce  and  sudden  in  these  latitudes,  and  terrible 
in  proportion  to  the  beauty  and  serenity  of  the  calm- 
ness now." 

"  Well,  Linares  will  come  back  for  us." 

"  But,  should  he  founder  ?" 

"  We,  then,  are  safe,  Lopez !" 

The  answer  silenced  him  for  awhile.  But  he  re- 
newed the  attempt — more  cautiously,  but  with  such 
suggestions  as  might  have  influenced  his  own  nature. 
He  described  to  her  the  unwonted  terrors  which  had 


298  THE  MAROON; 

assailed  him  in  his  first  acquaintance  with  the  island. 
The  lowing  of  strange  beasts  of  the  sea,  which  some- 
times came  to  sleep  by  night  upon  the  shore  ; — the 
screams  of  unknown  birds  of  great  expanse  of  wing 
and  power,  glimpses  of  which  he  caught,  rising  and 
descending,  as  from  the  stars,  at  midnight ; — the  aw- 
ful plunges  of  wild  monsters,  from  the  shore  into  the 
sea,  and  the  bellowing  of  whole  tribes  of  strange  ani- 
mals, whose  uproar  seemed  to  shake  the  islet  itself. 
But  these  rather  provoked  the  curiosity  than  the  alarm 
of  the  fearless  woman.  The  novelty  of  such  sights 
and  sounds  precluded  the  images  of  terror  which  he 
sought  to  raise.  She  declared  the  very  loneliness 
which  still  made  him  shudder,  to  be  a  consciousness 
highly  desirable  to  her  heart ;  and  as  for  the  great 
birds  and  beasts — she  had  seen  the  elephant,  and  had 
heard  the  lion  roar  in  his  own  desert  of  Sahara ;  and 
the  very  safety  of  her  lover  was  a  sufficient  proof  that 
she  could  be  in  no  peril.  Her  will  proved  superior 
to  his  fears.  The  boat  was  filled  with  fruit,  and  sent 
back  to  the  ship,  and  Linares  was  entreated  to  lay  his 
vessel  at  anchor  for  the  night,  when  the  two  would 
come  on  board  in  the  morning. 

To  keep  Maria  from  the  cave,  was  now  the  object 
of  the  Maroon  ; — to  prolong  his  ramble  until  night- 
fall, among  the  groves,  and  along  the  sea-shore — and, 
in  the  night,  while  she  slept,  to  steal  away  from  her  side 
— regain  the  cave,  repossess  himself  of  his  treasure,  and 
soothe  the  fears  and  the  suspicions  of  Amaya,  so  that 
he  might  abandon  her  in  safety,  and  without  detection 
by  the  woman  whom  he  most  feared ; — this  was  the 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        299 

notable  scheme  which  he  suddenly  devised,  when  he 
found  that  Maria  was  fixed  in  her  purpose  of  remain- 
ing on  the  islet.     To  leave  his  treasure  was  out  of  the 
question.     But  for  this  treasure  he  had  not  cared  to 
leave  the  place.     He  was  really  very  happy  with  the 
Indian  damsel — might  have  been   completely  happy 
but  for  the  dowry  which  she  brought,  and  which  filled 
him  with  the  proudest  fancies  of  the  figure  that  he 
should  make  in  Spain.     To  say  that  he  had  no  com- 
punctious visitings  of  conscience  at  the  thought  of  her 
abused  devotion — of  his  so  soon  and  cruel  abandon- 
ment of  one  who  so  thoroughly  confided  to  his  affec- 
tions— would  be  to  do  him  great  injustice.     But  the 
sympathies  of  the  heart,  unless  sustained  and  strength- 
ened by  a  decisive  will  of  the  intellect,  are  never  long 
to  be  relied  on.     They  are  at  the  mercy  of  every 
mind,  who  brings  to  its  support  a  resolute  and  earnest 
character.     Lopez  was  humbled  when  he  thought  of 
Amaya,  but  his  remedy  was  to  dismiss  her  from  his 
thoughts  with  all  possible  rapidity.     He  was  compelled 
to  do  so,  for  his  companion  required  all  his  attentions. 
We  shall  say  nothing  of  her  shows  of  fondness. 
Maria  de  Pacheco  was  not  feeble   or   childish — not 
wanton,  indeed — in  the  display  of  her  attachments. 
She  was  too  proud  for  the  exhibition  of  love  in  its 
weakness  and   dependence.     But   she   indulged   the 
mood   somewhat   after   the   fashion  of  the    Sultana 
of  the  East.     She  willed  to  love,  and  to  be  loved,  and 
she  required  obedience.     It  was  necessary  that  Lopez 
should  prove  that  he  was  not  ungrateful  for  the  risks 
which  she  had  run,  and  the  sacrifices  which  she  had 


800  THE  MAROON; 

made,  in  his  behalf.  It  was  needful  that  his  attachment 
should  be  as  fond,  and  his  behavior  as  dutiful,  as  it 
had  been  before  the  unfortunate  discovery  -which  had 
placed  them  both  at  the  mercy  of  Juan.  That  he 
was  reluctant,  or  forgetful  in  any  respect,  Maria  was 
not  suffered  to  perceive.  Excited  as  she  was  by  her 
own  emotions — the  consciousness  of  a  great  battle 
fought,  and  a  triumph  gained — the  last  trophies  of 
which  were  now  in  her  hands — she,  perhaps,  would 
have  been  slow  to  detect  the  wandering  mood  and  the 
indifferent  manner  of  her  companion,  even  if  he  had 
betrayed  either.  But  the  timid  nature  is  always  so- 
licitous how  it  alarms  or  offends  the  bold  one ;  and  on 
the  score  of  his  devotedness,  Maria  beheld  nothing, 
as  yet,  to  occasion  her  jealousy.  But  his  will,  which 
kept  him  observant  of  her  moods,  was  not  sufficient 
to  prescribe  to  her  the  course  to  be  pursued,  or  to  ar- 
rest her  eager  progress.  Her  impetuous  spirit  hurried 
her  forward ;  and  the  ground  which — feeling  his  way  at 
every  step — it  had  taken  Lopez  several  days  to  tra- 
verse, when  he  first  undertook  to  explore  his  territory 
— was  now  overcome  in  a  few  hours.  Vainly  did  he 
seek  to  detain  her  gaze — to  arrest  her  progress,  and 
inspire  in  her  an  admiration  of  objects  which  had  never 
once  fixed  his  own.  His  artifices,  though  never  sus- 
pected, were  always  fruitless.  She  still  made  fearful 
progress.  The  sea-shore  was  abandoned,  the  cool 
groves  received  them,  the  plain  rose  beneath  her  foot- 
steps— they  were  already  upon  the  slopes  of  that  ele- 
vation, at  the  extremity  of  which  lay  the  secret  and 
the  treasure  of  the  Maroon.  He  looked  back  in 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CAKIBBEES.  301 

terror  for  the  sun.  His  round  red  orb  still  shone 
high  and  proudly  in  the  heavens  ;  and  it  was  with 
equal  wonder  and  self-reproach  that  Lopez  remem- 
bered how  long  it  was  before  his  timid  spirit  had  suf- 
fered him  to  compass  the  same  extent  of  territory.  The 
paths  naturally  opened  for  her  footsteps.  They  had 
often  been  traversed  by  his  own ;  and  it  was  with  a 
mortal  fear  that  Lopez  momently  caught  glimpses  of 
the  small,  naked  footstep  of  Amaya,  on  the  softer 
sands,  as  she  had  wandered  beside  him  in  their  rambles. 
But  these  were  never  seen  by  Maria  de  Pacheco.  The 
earnest  and  intense  nature  seldom  pauses  for  the  small 
details  in  progress.  Her  proud  spirit  was  always 
upward  as  well  as  onward — always  above  the  earth. 
She  threw  herself  suddenly  down  beneath  the  thicket. 
There  was  a  pause.  Our  Maroon  enjoyed  a  brief 
respite  from  his  terrors.  He  threw  himself  beside 
her,  and  her  eyes  closed  in  his  embrace.  To  a  fierce 
and  intense  nature  such  as  hers,  there  is  something 
delicious  in  the  pauses  of  the  strife,  but  it  is  only  be- 
cause they  are  momentary.  The  rest  from  conquest 
is  perhaps  the  only  real  luxury  of  enthusiasm  ; — but 
the  interval  is  brief,  and  is  simply  designed  to  afford 
a  renewal  of  the  vitality  necessary  for  continued  ac- 
tion. 

"  How  sweet,  how  beautiful,  is  the  repose  of  sky, 
and  shore,  and  sea !  What  a  delicious  languor  of  at- 
mosphere is  this  !" — and  a  moment  after  speaking  thus, 
Maria  de  Pacheco  shook  off  her  own  languor,  and  was 
once  more  upon  her  feet. 

"  Will  she  now  return  to  the  shore — to  the  palms 
26 


302  THE  MAROON; 

where  I  told  her  I  had  slept?"  Such  was  the  secret 
inquiry  of  his  heart.  She  had  no  such  purpose.  Her 
curiosity  was  still  unsatisfied.  Besides,  to  walk  simply 
upon  the  solid  earth,  after  weeks  on  shipboard,  is  it- 
self a  luxury.  The  sun  was  still  high,  and  bright, 
though  sloping  gradually  to  the  sea.  The  step  of 
Maria  was  taken  forward,  and  Lopez  followed,  like  a 
criminal,  with  reluctant  footsteps,  as  if  going  to  execu- 
tion. They  stood  at  length  on  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
which  looked  over  to  the  Caribbean  shore.  The  abrupt 
precipice  arrested  her  farther  progress,  and  she  stood 
gazing  with  eager  satisfaction  upon  the  small,  snug, 
and  lovely  domain  of  the  Maroon. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE  thoughts  coursed  rapidly  through  the  brain  of 
Lopez  de  Levya.  He  felt  that  she  was  on  the  brink 
of  his  secret.  Another  step  to  the  right  or  to  the 
left,  and  the  descending  pathway  would  lead  to  the 
sandy  esplanade  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave;  and,  with 
her  restless  glances,  what  could  keep  her  from  dis- 
covering its  curious  portal,  and  penetrating  to  its  in- 
most recesses.  Were  she  to  make  this  discovery  with- 
out his  assistance,  her  suspicions  might  well  be  awak- 
ened !  He  resolved  with  unaccustomed  boldness.  He 
made  a  merit  of  necessity.  He  put  his  hand  upon 
her  arm,  and  with  a  sweet  significant  smile  looked 
upon  her  face  as  she  gazed  upward. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        303 

"  I  have  reserved,  for  the  last,  my  greatest  curios- 
ity. I  have  conducted  you  hither  to  surprise  you. 
Follow  me  now,  and  you  will  see  how  complete  is  my 
establishment !" 

She  did  not  reflect  that  he  had  been  guided  by  her 
footsteps,  and  that  his  reluctance  at  her  inspection  of 
his  territories  had  been  declared  from  the  beginning. 
She  was  sufficiently  happy,  and  indulged  in  no  recol- 
lections or  reflections  which  might  occasion  doubt  or 
suspicion.  He  led  the  way,  and  she  descended  to  the 
beach.  He  conducted  her  to  the  cave,  and,  with  the 
eager  delight  of  a  curious  child,  she  darted  into  its  re- 
cesses. The  antechamber  was  a  wonder,  but  the  in- 
terior aroused  all  that  was  romantic  in  her  nature. 
It  was  just  the  sort  of  dwelling  for  one  trained  among 
the  gypsies  of  the  Alpuxarras.  The  chamber  was  so 
wild  and  snug !  The  stone,  such  a  truly  Egyptian 
fireplace  !  She  did  not  dream  of  its  uses  as  an  altar, 
nor  did  he  breathe  a  syllable  on  this  subject.  And 
the  couch  in  which  he  had  slept,  in  which  there  still 
remained  a  sufficient  supply  of  moss  and  leaves,  to 
render  it  suitable  for  the  same  purpose,  was  one  to 
determine  her  instantly  that  it  should  be  hers  that 
very  night. 

We  need  not  describe  the  consternation  of  Lopez  as 
he  listened  to  this  resolve.  It  completed  his  disquiet 
and  annoyance.  He  had  trembled  at  every  step  which 
she  had  taken — at  every  glance  of  her  eye  when  the 
cave  was  entered.  He  feared  her  eager  survey — her 
penetrating  scrutiny.  His  eyes  stole  frequently  and 
unconsciously  to  the  remote  corner  of  the  cave  in 


304  THE  MAROON; 

which  he  had  concealed  Amaja;  and  while  he  trembled 
at  the  possible  discoveries  of  the  Spanish  woman,  his 
companion,  his  heart  smote  him  for  those  which  the 
poor  girl  of  Caribbee  must  have  already  made.  For 
Maria  de  Pacheco,  assuming  the  duty  and  devotion  of 
her  lover,  had  not  spared  her  endearments.  The 
silence  and  the  secrecy  of  the  cavern  seemed  to  invite 
them.  She  had  hung  upon  his  neck  with  her  caresses, 
and  he  had  been  compelled  to  requite  them,  though 
in  fear  and  trembling.  His  conscience  smote  him 
when  he  thought  of  the  unselfish  and  confiding  passion 
of  Amaya — her  simple  truth,  her  gentle  nature,  and 
the  artless  sweetness  of  her  affections.  -  But  to  with- 
stand the  imperious  spirit  of  the  woman  at  his  side, 
was  not  within  his  strength  and  courage.  His  fears, 
and  the  new-born  agonies  of  the  Indian  woman,  may 
be  more  easily  imagined  than  described. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

AGAIN  did  the  two  emerge  from  the  cavern.  The 
sun  had  set !  Night  was  falling  rapidly,  as  is  its  wont 
in  those  regions,  where  the  day  makes,  as  it  were, 
but  a  single  transition,  from  meridian  brightness  to 
the  stillness  and  the  dusk  of  midnight.  An  angry 
flush  lay  in  the  region  where  the  sun  went  down,  to 
the  wary  mariner  denoting  wind  and  tempest.  But 
neither  Lopez  nor  his  companion  thought  of  storm ; 
nor  did  this  fear  impress  the  seamen  on  board  the 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  305 

Dian  de  Burgos.  The  fruits  from  the  shore — the  mo- 
mentary pause  from  the  ordinary  duties  of  the  sea — 
and  a  division  of  a  portion  of  the  treasures  of  Velas- 
quez and  Juan  among  the  crew,  by  way  of  hush-money 
and  bounty,  called  for  something  like  indulgence. 
The  Dian  de  Burgos  was  not  without  her  luxuries. 
The  stores  of  her  late  captain  were  fished  up.  Lina- 
res was  disposed  to  be  liberal  to  his  former  comrades ; 
and  wine  and  stronger  beverages  were  not  denied  to 
their  enjoyment.  It  was  among  the  infirmities  of 
Linares,  that  he  himself  was  not  wholly  insensible  to 
the  joys  of  the  vine.  As  the  heir  of  Velasquez,  he 
might  certainly  indulge  his  tastes.  He  did  so ;  and 
while  Maria  de  Pacheco  luxuriated  in  the  delights  of 
love,  he  gratified  his  newly-gotten  liberty  by  sacrifices 
at  the  altars  of  a  very  different  deity. 

Ordinary  precautions  are  soon  forgotten  in  the  ac- 
quisition of  extraordinary  pleasures.  No  one  thought 
of  tempest.  The  evening  remained  calm.  There  was 
little  wind  stirring,  just  enough  to  break  into  irregu- 
lar but  not  threatening  billows  the  vast  surface  of 
the  sea.  The  stars  were  out  soon,  large,  bright,  and 
very  numerous.  A  thin  drift  of  clouds  might  be  seen 
to  scud  slowly  away  among  them  from  the  west  to 
the  east.  Lopez  would  have  led  his  companion  away 
from  the  cavern — would  have  persuaded  her  to  a  couch 
among  the  palms,  where,  as  he  showed  her,  his  own 
had  first  been  made.  But  she  had  resolved  upon  the 
chamber  in  the  cavern,  and  he  was  compelled  to  sub- 
mit. They  re-entered  it  with  heedful  footsteps.  The 
interior  was  wholly  dark,  except  where,  in  the  inner 
26* 


306  THE  MAROON; 

apartment,  the  light  of  the  stars  made  its  way  through 
the  two  small  apertures  which  the  Maroon  had  left 
unclosed.  It  was  long  before^they  slept.  Much  had 
Maria  de  Pacheco  to  relate.  She  gave  him  the  de- 
tails of  the  conspiracy  against  Velasquez.  She  sup- 
pressed nothing  of  Her  own  share  in  the  proceedings, 
and  declared  a  very  natural  and  feminine  horror  at 
the  catastrophe,  which  she  yet  insisted  on  as  neces- 
sary to  her  own  safety  and  to  his.  The  Maroon  list- 
ened to  the  narrative  with  conflicting  feelings,  and  in 
silence.  The  conduct  of  Maria  established  a  new 
claim  upon  his  gratitude ;  but  it  did  not  contribute  to 
the  strength  of  his  former  passion ;  and  his  thoughts, 
fascinated  by  the  terrible  story  to  which  he  listened, 
were  sometimes  startled  from  their  propriety,  as  he 
heard,  more  than  once,  what  seemed  to  him  a  deep 
sigh  from  the  hiding-place  of  Amaya.  It  may  have 
been  in  his  fancy  only  that  this  intrusive  monitor  was 
heard,  but  it  sufficed  to  keep  him  apprehensive.  For- 
tunately, Maria  de  Pacheco  heard  nothing.  She  had 
no  suspicions ;  and,  in  the  death  of  Juan  and  Velas- 
quez, her  fears  were  all  ended.  In  the  recovery  of 
the  Maroon  all  her  hopes  seemed  to  be  satisfied. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

THE  night  began  to  wane — the  wind  rose.  It  could 
be  heard  shrilly  to  whistle  through  the  crevices  of  the 
rock,  as  if  in  threat  and  warning.  But  Maria  slept 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        307 

not  deeply,  and  her  head  was  on  the  arm  of  the  Ma- 
roon. When  he  sought  to  rise,  which  more  than  once 
he  did,  she  started  from  her  sleep  with  disquietude. 
If  he  but  stirred  she  was  conscious  of  it.  Her  sleep 
was  troubled.  Her  dreams  revenged  upon  her  con- 
science the  obtuseness  which,  by  the  force  of  her  will, 
she  imposed  upon  it  in  her  waking  moments.  It 
enabled  her  to  restrain,  though  unconsciously,  the 
movements  of  her  companion.  He  made  repeated 
attempts  to  disengage  himself  from  her  grasp — and 
rise.  He  wished  to  confer  with  Amaya.  We  may 
conjecture  what  he  would  have  said.  But  he  strove 
in  vain.  In  watching  for  the  moment  when  the  sleep 
of  Maria  should  become  sufficiently  deep  to  afford  him 
the  desired  opportunity,  he  finally  slept  himself.  Na- 
ture yielded  at  last,  and  his  slumbers  were  soon  quite 
as  profound  as  those  of  his  companion. 

Without  being  well  conscious  that  he  slept  at  all, 
he  was  suddenly  awakened,  as  if  by  a  death-cold  hand 
upon  his  wrist.  He  started,  and  was  confounded 
when  he  unclosed  his  eyes,  to  behold  the  cavern  bright- 
ly illuminated.  The  fire  which  had  been  suffered  to 
go  out  by  the  Caribbean  damsel,  in  the  sweet  experi- 
ence of  her  first  mortal  passion,  had  been  suddenly 
revived,  and  by  her  hands.  She  stood  between  him 
and  the  altar-place,  her  eyes  wildly  sad  and  staring 
upon  him  and  his  companion.  A  torch  was  still 
grasped  in  one  of  her  uplifted  hands.  She  had  pro- 
bably been  inspecting  closely  the  sleeping  features  of 
the  woman  who  had  first  taught  her  to  feel  the  agony 
which  belongs  to  a  consciousness  of  the  infidelity  of 


308  THE  MAROON; 

the  beloved  one.  As,  at  his  awakening,  the  head  of 
the  Maroon  was  involuntarily  uplifted,  she  cast  the 
brand  which  she  held  upon  the  altar,  flung  one  of  her 
hands  despairingly  and  reproachfully  toward  him,  and 
darted  headlong  from  the  chamber. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

MARIA  de  Pacheco  still  slept.  It  was  now  doubly 
important  to  the  Maroon  that  she  should  continue  to 
do  so.  To  rise  softly — which  he  now  -succeeded  in 
doing,  without  arousing  her — to  extinguish  the  brands, 
and  to  steal  forth  and  see  what  was  the  course  and 
what  the  purpose  of  Amaya,  was  the  next  natural 
movement  of  Lopez.  He  soon  smothered  the  flame 
and  quenched  the  burning  embers  ;  but  the  night  had 
grown  dark,  the  stars  were  shrouded,  and,  when  he 
emerged  from  the  cavern,  he  could  see  nothing.  He 
stole  back,  trembling  with  doubt  and  apprehension, 
and  wondering  what  next  would  follow.  Maria  had 
awakened, 

"Where  are  you?" — was  her  salutation  as  he  drew 
nigh — "  Where  have  you  been  ?" 

"  Hear  you  the  wind,  Maria  ?  The  night  is  very 
dark  and  gusty.  We  shall  have  a  storm  to-morrow." 

"But  we  are  safe,  Lopez !"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  was  the  secret  whisper 
of  his  guilty  heart. 

The  night  passed  without  farther  interruptions.  At 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        309 

dawn,  the  Maroon  arose  before  his  companion.  He 
proceeded  to  his  treasure,  which  he  now  prepared  to 
have  in' readiness  to  convey,  without  being  suspected, 
on  board  the  vessel.  The  richer  pearls  were  hidden 
in  his  bosom  and  in  the  folds  of  his  garments.  The 
rest  were  stored  away  carefully  in  the  bottom  of  one 
of  the  largest  baskets  which  he  had  found  in  his  cavern, 
and  which  he  pretended  had  been  picked  up  on  the 
shore.  A  few  bananas  were  laid  upon  the  top,  to 
prevent  inquiry.  His  arrangements  were  all  com- 
plete before  Maria  awakened.  With  the  sunrise 
they  had  both  emerged  upon  the  beach.  But  the  sun 
rose  faintly,  and  struggled  on  his  course  against  nume- 
rous clouds.  The  wind  came  in  sudden  gusts,  sweep- 
ing the  ocean  into  temporary  anger.  The  lulls  be- 
tween were  not  less  unpromising ;  and,  to  the  old 
seamen,  the  signs  were  pregnant  of  one  of  those  wild 
and  capricious  changes  of  the  weather,  which  so  fre- 
quently converted  into  a  scene  of  wrath  and  horror  the 
otherwise  sweet  serene  of  these  latitudes.  But  Maria 
did  not  heed  these  signs,  in  the  consciousness  of  the 
attainment  of  her  desires.  Lopez  was  too  anxious  to 
leave  the  neighborhood  of  the  poor  Caribbean  dam- 
sel, about  whom  his  heart  constantly  reproached  it- 
self; and  those  whom  we  left  on  shipboard  were  quite 
too  happy,  in  the  enjoyment  of  their  unfrequent  satur- 
nalia, to  disturb  themselves  with  anticipations  of  the 
future.  It  may  have  been  a  fancy  only,  but,  looking 
back  at  the  moment  ere  he  stepped  into  the  boat  which 
was  to  convey  him  from  the  islet,  did  he  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  slender  form  of  Amaya  among  the 


310  THE  MAROON; 

palms,  with  her  arm  outstretched,  and  pointing  to  the 
cavern  ?  A  second  and  more  earnest  glance  revealed 
him  nothing. 

Safely  within  the  ship,  his  treasures  made  secure, 
and  with  the  example  of  all  around  him  persuading 
him  to  licentiousness,  Lopez  de  Levya  soon  gave  way 
to  excesses  which  contributed  to  make  him  forgetful 
of  the  damsel  he  had  deserted.  He  was  received  with 
half  maudlin  affection  by  Linares  and  the  crew.  The 
coarser  pleasures  in  which  these  were  indulging  were 
transferred,  with  some  qualifying  refinements,  to  the 
cabin  of  Velasquez.  Here,  from  flagons  of  gold  and 
silver,  did  our  Maroon  quaff  the  intoxicating  bever- 
age to  the  health  of  Maria  de  Pacheco  and  the  pros- 
perous fortunes  of  the  Dian  de  Burgos.  The  day 
passed  in  prolonged  indulgence.  The  excesses  which 
might  have  revolted  Maria  and  her  companion  at 
another  time,  were  now  only  the  outpourings  of  a 
natural  exultation,  which  was  due  to  a  sense  of  newly- 
acquired  freedom,  and  the  acquisition  of  novel  luxu- 
ries. The  gradual  progress  of  the  hours  brought  on 
increase  of  wind  which  finally  grew  to  storm.  But 
this  occasioned  no  disquiet,  and  did  not  lessen  the 
enjoyments  of  any  of  the  parties.  Linares,  like  a 
veteran  seaman,  full  of  wine  as  he  was,  first  took  care 
to  see  that  his  vessel  was  secure.  He  was  in  a  good 
anchorage.  His  ship  was  stripped  to  the  storm,  and 
he  had  no  reason  to  apprehend  that  she  would  drag 
her  anchor  under  any  pressure  of  the  gale.  A  good 
watch  was  set,  and,  wishing  for  more  freedom  in  his 
revels,  he  withdrew  from  the  cabin  to  the  more  genial, 
if  more  rough  association  of  the  crew. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  311 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

NIGHT  came  on — a  night  of  storm  and  many  ter- 
rors. Maria  de  Pacheco  and  our  Maroon  were  not 
wholly  insensible  to  its  dangers.  At  moments,  when 
the  pressure  of  the  wind  was  most  severely  felt,  they 
would  pause  in  the  midst  of  their  delights,  and  think 
of  the  solid  security  of  the  chamber  in  the  rock. 
But  the  revel  went  on  without  reserve.  The  rich 
flagon  stood  before  them  in  the  cabin.  They  were 
alone  with  each  other.  They  lived  for  each  other,  and 
there  was  no  tyrannic  power  at  hand  to  arrest  them  as 
they  carried  the  intoxicating  draught  of  rapture  to 
their  lips.  No  longer  conscious  of  the  proximity  of 
other  eyes,  Lopez  de  Levya  requited  the  caresses  of 
his  companion  with  an  ardency  quite  equal  to  her  own. 
They  spoke  of  their  mutual  delights.  They  declared 
their  mutual  hopes  of  home,  and,  in  the  increasing 
exultation  which  he  felt  in  his  security,  and  the  in- 
creasing influence  of  the  wine  which  he  had  quaffed, 
the  Maroon  revealed  to  Maria  the  wealth  of  pearl 
which  was  contained  in  his  bosom  and  his  baskets. 
He  poured  forth  his  milk-white  but  transparent  trea- 
sures into  her  lap,  and  wound  the  lengthened  strands 
about  her  neck.  His  form  resting  upon  one  knee 
before  her,  her  head  stooping  to  his  embrace,  neither 
of  them  perceived,  for  several  moments,  that,  while 
they  were  most  drunk  with  delight,  they  had  a  visitor. 
The  door  of  the  cabin  had  opened  silently  upon  them, 


312  THE  MAROON; 

and  the  deserted  damsel  of  the  Caribbees,  standing 
erect,  with  hands  drooping  at  her  side,  and  eyes  star- 
ing intently,  but  vacantly  and  wildly  upon  them,  now 
stood,  beholding,  herself  for  a  while  unseen,  their 
almost  infantile  caresses.  Stern  and  mournful  did 
she  stand,  surveying  this  scene  of  tenderness,  which 
every  pulse  of  her  passionate  young  heart  taught  her 
was  indulged  at  her  expense.  She  neither  sighed,  nor 
spoke,  nor  moved,  after  her  first  entrance.  Was  it 
an  instinct  of  their  own  souls  which  taught  them  that 
another  and  a  hostile  spirit  was  at  hand,  and  which 
made  the  proud  Spanish  woman  start  to  her  feet,  with 
a  sudden  terror ;  while  the  Maroon,  sinking  lower, 
upon  both  knees,  looked  round  him  in  shame  and 
trepidation  at  the  unexpected  presence  ?  To  him 
the  deserted  woman  gave  but  a  single  glance,  but  that 
declared  everything  in  their  mutual  histories.  Ad- 
vancing toward  Maria  de  Pacheco,  before  her  pur- 
pose could  be  divined,  she  suddenly  tore  the  strands 
of  pearl  from  the  bared  neck  and  bosom  to  which 
they  seemed  beautifully  kindred,  then,  dashing  them 
to  the  floor,  trampled  them  under  foot,  and  fled  from 
the  cabin  with  a  shriek  which  sounded  like  that  of 
doom  in  the  ears  of  the  Maroon.  He  had  appre- 
hended a  worse  danger  when  he  saw  her  so  suddenly 
approach  Maria.  He  had  seen  in  the  grasp  of  the 
Indian  damsel,  the  same  broad  and  heavy  cleaver  of 
stone  with  which  he  had  beheld  the  priestess,  on  the 
night  of  her  first  entrance  to  the  cave,  sever  the  long 
sable  tresses  from  her -neck,  and  devote  them,  in  sac- 
rifice, on  behalf  of  her  future  destinies.  That  she 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        313 

would  use  this  fearful  instrument  on  the  forehead  of 
the  Spanish  woman,  was  the  spontaneous  fear  in  the 
heart  of  Lopez  ;  but,  at  that  moment,  so  suddenly  had 
he  been  surprised  by  her  presence,  and  so  greatly 
was  he  confounded  by  his  guilt  and  terror,  she  might 
have  safely  executed  the  deed  of  death,  had  murder 
been  her  purpose. 

Inflamed  with  wine,  stung  by  the  indignity  to  which 
she  had  been  subjected,  Maria  de  Pacheco  recovered 
from  her  astonishment  much  sooner  than  her  para- 
mour from  his  fears.  Confronting  him  with  a  fierce 
and  flashing  glance  from  her  dark  imperial  eye,  she 
demanded,  in  choking  accents,  the  explanation  of  the 
scene.  But,  filled  with  terror,  partly  intoxicated, 
and  wholly  confused  and  bewildered  by  the  condition 
in  which  he  found  himself,  the  unmeaning  mutterings 
from  his  lips  gave  no  satisfaction  to  the  eager  and 
heated  inquirer.  With  a  speech  full  of  equal  scorn 
and  suspicion,  she  flurtg  away  from  his  approach,  and 
darted  out  upon  the  deck  of  the  vessel  in  pursuit  of 
the  stranger.  There,  all  was  storm  and  darkness. 
The  black  masses  of  night  seemed  to  crowd  and  accu- 
mulate before  her  path,  filling  up  the  passages,  and 
preventing  her  progress.  The  vessel  pitched  awfully. 
The  woman  could  scarcely  keep  her  feet,  though  quite 
as  much  accustomed  to  the  motion  of  the  ship  as  any 
of  the  seamen.  She  felt  her  way  along  the  bulwarks. 
She  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing — nothing  but  the 
awful  roaring  of  the  winds  as  they  fell  upon  the 
waves  in  the  fury  of  a  mortal  conflict.  She  made  her 
way  to  the  prow.  The  excellent  look-out  of  veteran 
27 


314 

seamen  whom  Linares  had  provided  for  the  watch  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  She  called  to  them  below,  and 
a  couple  of  drunken  sailors  scrambled  up  and  tottered 
toward  her.  They  had  seen  nothing.  She  could 
see  nothing.  Nothing  was  to  be  heard.  Yet,  more 
vigilant,  more  sober,  and  less  passionate  faculties  might 
have  detected,  even  while  she  made  her  inquiries,  cer- 
tain dull  and  heavy  strokes,  which,  at  pauses  in  the 
storm,  seemed  to  rise  from  the  deep,  and  to  run  along 
the  cable.  Little  did  Lopez  de  Levya  divine  the  fatal 
purpose  for  which  the  Caribbean  damsel  carried  with 
her  that  hatchet  of  stone. 

Impatient,  with  a  brain  full  of  suspicions,  and  a 
heart  severed  by  disappointment,  Maria  de  Pacheco 
returned  to  the  cabin,  leaving  the  two  half  drunken 
sailors  in  possession  of  the  watch.  They  might  have 
been,  and  probably  were,  famous  watchers  at  all  other 
times.  But  the  liquors  of  Velasquez  had  been  equally 
potent  and  tempting,  and  they  were  still  provided  with 
a  flask  of  the  delicious  beverage.  They  drank  and 
sang  together  in  defiance  of  the  storm.  What  was 
the  storm  to  them  ?  The  Dian  de  Burgos  was  as  tight 
a  creature  as  ever  swan  the  seas,  and  hard  and  firm 
were  the  sands,  in  which  their  anchors  found  their 
rest.  Besides,  since  they  came  on  deck,  the  storm 
seemed  somewhat  to  have  subsided.  The  seas  were 
not  so  high.  The  ship  no  longer  plunged  with  that 
peevish  and  cumbersome  motion,  like  a  high-mettled 
horse  under  the  discipline  of  a  cruel  curb,  but  rose 
easily  and  gently  with  the  play  of  the  billows,  as  if 
she  were  smoothly  posting,  with  a  fair  gale,  along 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  315 

accustomed  pathways  of  the  sea.  The  observations 
of  our  watch  were  of  this  satisfactory  complexion.  It 
never  occurred  to  them  as  possible  that  the  ship 
really  was  in  motion — that  she  no  longer  opposed  the 
resistance  of  her  mighty  bulk  to  the  winds  and  waters, 
but  obeyed  placidly  the  impulses  which  their  united 
powers  gave.  They  little  dreamed,  how  much  of  their 
consolation  was  drawn  from  causes  of  their  greatest 
danger. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

MEANWHILE,  in  the  cabin  of  the  Dian  de  Burgos, 
the  tempest  raged  as  fiercely  as  it  did  without,  and 
entirely  excluded  the  terrors  of  wind  and  sea.  The 
ready  instincts  of  Maria  de  Pacheco  had  conducted 
her  to  much  of  the  secret  of  her  paramour.  She  now 
recalled  his  reluctance  to  conduct  her  over  the  island 
— the  art,  which,  when  on  the  eve  of  discovery,  had 
made  a  merit  of  necessity,  and  led  her  into  the 
recesses  of  the  cavern — the  uneasiness  which  seemed 
heedless  of  her  endearments — the  disquiet  which  they 
seemed  to  occasion — his  dis'appearance  at  midnight — 
and  the  pearl,  the  treasure,  of  which  he  was  so  unac- 
countably possessed.  The  sudden  appearance  of  the 
Indian  damsel  revealed  the  whole  secret,  and  led  to 
conjectures  which  made  the  course  of  the  Maroon 
seem  more  odious  to  Maria  than  it  possibly  could  have 
been  under  a  frank  and  honest  statement  of  the  facts. 


816  THE  MAROON; 

To  have  made  this  statement  required  nothing  more 
than  common  courage.  But  this  was  the  very  faculty 
which  Lopez  wanted  most.  When  his  secret  was  ex- 
torted from  him,  as  it  finally  was,  and  the  whole  of 
its  details  surrendered,  the  vexation  of  the  Spanish 
woman  was  not  so  much  because  of  the  events,  as  be- 
cause of  his  withholding  them.  It  betrayed  a  want 
of  confidence  in  her,  and  this  was  proof  of  deficient 
sympathy.  Upon  this  sympathy  she  had  staked  her 
life — had  perilled  all  that  was  feminine  in  her  nature; 
and  the  appalling  terror,  lest  she  should  have  perilled 
all  in  vain,  might  well  justify  the  fearful  aspect,  and 
the  stern  and  keen  reproaches,  with  which  she  en- 
countered him. 

She  was  at  last  pacified.  It  was  her  policy  to  be 
so.  When  the  heart  has  made  its  last  investment,  it 
is  slow  to  doubt  its  own  securities.  His  declarations 
of  attachment,  when  he  had  somewhat  recovered  his 
confidence,  began  to  reassure  her.  She  yielded  to  his 
persuasions — to  his  blandishments  and  caresses,  rather 
than  to  his  reasons,  or  such  as  he  urged  in  his  justi- 
fication. It  was  in  the  midst  of  these  endearments 
that  a  voice  was  heard  faintly  singing  at  the  cabin 
entrance — a  voice  which  the  Maroon  but  too  painfully 
remembered.  The  tones,  though  faint,  were  distinct. 
The  song  was  in  the  dialect  of  the  Caribbee,  and  it  was 
one  of  which  a  feeble  translation  has  been  already 
given; — a  ballad  which  the  poor  Amaya  had  been 
wont  to  sing  him,  when  she  would  beguile  him  to  join 
her  in  her  sports  of  ocean.  It  rehearsed  the  delights 
and  the  treasures  of  the  deep — its  cool  crystalline 
chambers,  always  secure  from  the  shafts  of  the  sun — 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.        317 

its  couches  of  moss  and  sea-weed — and  of  the  sweet 
devotion  of  the  sea  maid  who  implored  him  to  her  em- 
braces. The  pathetic  tenderness  of  her  tone — the 
wild,  but  pleading  earnestness  of  her  plaint — the 
solemn  sweetness  and  mysterious  force  of  that  invoca- 
tion with  which  the  separate  verses  were  burdened — 

"  Come,  seek  the  ocean's  depths  with  me !" — 

startled  the  guilty  Maroon  with  a  new  and  nameless 
terror.  He  started  to  his  feet,  but  remained  station- 
ary, incapable  of  motion.  But  the  angry  spirit  of 
Maria  de  Pacheco  was  aroused  once  more.  She  put 
him  aside,  and  darted  to  the  entrance  of  the  cabin. 
As  she  threw  it  open,  a  white  form  flashed  upon  the 
darkness.  It  seemed  as  if  a  spirit  had  shot  away 
from  her  grasp,  and  darting  high  in  air,  had  disap- 
peared in  the  black  waste  of  sky  and  sea  beyond.  A 
shriek,  rather  in  exultation  than  grief,  was  heard  amid 
the  roar  of  wind  and  water.  It  was  followed  by  the 
human  scream  of  Maria.  "  Madre  de  Dios!  the  ship 
is  moving.  We  are  at  the  mercy  of  the  seas  !  Ho  ! 
there,  Lopez  ! — Linares  !  Awake !  arouse  ye — or  we 
perish  !" 

Her  cries  were  cut  short  by  her  terrors.  The  prow 
of  the  ship  was  lifted — fearfully  lifted,  as  if  by  some 
unseen  power  from  below.  The  water  surged  awfully 
beneath,  and  a  terrible  roar  followed,  as  if  from  a  herd 
of  wild  animals  deep  in  the  hollows  of  the  sea. 

"What  is  that,  Lopez? — what  is  this  ? — whispered 
the  woman  to  the  faint-hearted  paramour  who  had 
crept -beside  her.    A  terrible  shock  followed — another 
27* 


318  THE  MAROON; 

and  another  ! — and  the  whole  dreadful  danger  was 
apparent  in  an  instant  to  both.  They  were  among  the 
rocks.  The  ship  had  struck — and  the  ready  memory 
of  the  Maroon,  well  conceived  the  fearful  condition 
in  which  they  stood,  borne  by  the  irresistible  and 
treacherous  currents  upon  those  silent  and  terrible 
masses  of  rock,  where,  in  moments  of  the  sea's  serene, 
he  had  so  frequently  shared  in  the  wild  sports  of  his 
Caribbean  beauty.  Well  might  he  remember  those 
rude  and  sullen  masses.  Often  had  he  remarked,  with 
a  shudder,  the  dark  and  fearful  abysses  which  settled, 
still  and  gloomy,  in  their  dark  mysterious  chambers. 
But  he  had  now  no  time  to  recall  the  periods  of  their 
grim  repose.  Another  moment,  and  the  ship,  awfully 
plunging  under  the  constant  impulsions  of  the  sea, 
buried  her  sharp  bow,  with  a  deep  groan,  in  the  black 
and  seething  waters.  The  breakers  rushed  over  them 
with  a  fall  like  that  of  a  cataract.  For  a  single  in- 
stant, the  Dian  de  Burgos  hung  suspended  as  it  were, 
upon  a  pinnacle.  Then,  even  as  the  still  besotted, 
and  only  half-awakened  sailors,  were  rushing  out  on 
deck,  she  divided  in  the  middle — one  part  falling  over 
into  the  reservoir  among  the  rocks,  the  other  tumbling 
back  upon  the  seas,  to  be  driven  forward,  by  succes- 
sive shocks,  and  in  smaller  fragments,  to  a  like  des- 
tiny. 

In  this  fearful  moment,  Maria  de  Pacheco  was 
separated,  by  the  numerous  waves,  from  the  side  of 
the  Maroon.  He  heard  her  voice  through  tne  awful 
roar. 

"Where  are  you,  Lopez? — 0  !  let  me  not  lose  you 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CARIBBEES.  319 

now  !"  But  he  could  make  no  answer.  He  heard  no 
more.  Her  cries  ceased  with  that  single  one.  He 
had  not  strength  to  cry,  for  he  was  struggling  himself 
with  the  seas,  and  with  another  peril.  While  the 
fierce  currents  bore  him  forward — while  the  wild 
billows  tore  him  away  from  the  fragment  of  wreck 
which  he  had  grasped  spasmodically,  in  the  moment 
when  the  ship  went  to  pieces — he  was  conscious  of  a 
sudden  plunge  beside  him — of  an  arm  fondly  wrapped 
about  his  neck,  and  of  a  voice  that  sung  in  tones  the 
most  mournful  and  pathetic  in  his  ears,  even  as  he 
sank,  and  sinking  with  him,  that  fond  ballad  of  the 
Caribbean  damsel.  It  was  a  heart-broken  chant, 
which  had  some  exultation  in  it.  The  last  human 
words  of  which  the  feeble  and  perfidious  Maroon  was 
conscious,  were  those  of  the  entreating  sea-nymph — 

"Come,  seek  the  ocean's  depths  with  me!" 


MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH. 


CHAPTER    I. 

Kindle  the  Christmas  brand,  and  then 

Till  sunset  let  it  burne ; 
Which  quencht,  then  lay  it  up  agent 

Till  Christmas  next  returue  : 
Part  must  be  kept  wherewith  to  teeud 

The  Christmas  log  next  yeare, 
And  where  'tis  safely  kept,  the  fiend 

Can  do  no  mischiefe  there. — HERIUCK. 

THE  FULL  CORN-CRIB. 

TELL  me  nothing  of  the  crops !  Suppose  they  don't 
grow — suppose  there  is  a  failure,  and  the  corn  falls 
short,  and  the  cotton  sheds,  and  the  army-worm  ap- 
pears and  the  caterpillar,  and  there  is  an  early  frost, 
and  half  the  bolls  never  blow  !  These  things  will 
happen !  We  must  look  to  lose  our  crops  now  and 
then,  no  matter  what  we  plant.  It  can't  be  that  we 
shall  have  things  always  as  we  wish  them.  We  can't 
be  always  wise  or  always  fortunate.  But  we  can,  if 
we  please,  be  always  good  and  good-natured,  and  lov- 
ing and  cheerful,  and  thankful  for  what  we  do  get, 
and  for  the  things  in  which  we  are  prosperous.  There's 


MAIZE  IN  MILK.  321 

no  reason  because  of  the  drought  that  our  hearts  should 
be  dry  also.  There's  no  reason  because  we  make 
short  crops  that  we  should  be  short  to  our  friends, 
and  because  the  winter  comes  on  sooner  than  usual 
that  we  should  be  colder  than  usual  to  our  neighbors 
— that  our  charities  should  freeze  up  with  the  weather, 
and  our  gratitude  fail  us  because  the  sunshine  fails  us. 
We  must  only  make  the  hearth-fire  brighter ;  we  must 
only  make  sunshine  for  ourselves,  and  gather  our 
friends  about  the  warming,  and  make  merry  within 
while  all  is  melancholy  without ;  and  show  to  one  an- 
other how  cheerful  everything  may  be,  though  the 
tempest  blows  never  so  angrily  against  the  shutter. 
A  man  may  soon  learn  to  make  his  sunshine  wherever 
and  whenever  he  pleases,  and  to  carry  a  happy  heart 
under  a  thin  jacket.  He  must  be  a  man  without  re- 
gard to  the  seasons.  His  affections  must  not  alter 
with  the  weather.  He  mustn't  blow  hot  and  cold  be- 
cause the  wind  does  so.  He  must  keep  his  soul  firm 
and  his  sympathies  steadfast,  and  his  charities  must 
be  as  quick  to  warm  as  his  anger  is  quick  to  cool. 
His  log  must  be  kindled  at  Christmas,  though  he  may 
have  never  another  left  in  his  wood-yard.  There 
must  be  a  fire,  you  know,  at  Yule,  and  why  shouldn't 
his  hands  kindle  it  as  well  as  another's  ?  The  log 
was  cut  to  burn  ! 

But  he  is  unfortunate,  you  say.  Well,  is  that  any 
good  reason  why  he  shouldn't  warm  his  fingers  in  a 
cold  season  ?  But  then  he  makes  blaze  enough  to 
warm  a  dozen  !  Exactly  so  ;  and  this  only  proves 
that  even  the  unfortunate  man  is  never  so  wholly  un- 


322  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

fortunate  that  he  does  not  possess  the  happy  privilege, 
under  God,  of  making  others  happy.  There's  no 
waste  if,  when  he  sets  his  log  ablaze,  he  calls  in  his 
neighbors  to  enjoy  it.  I  tell  you  the  log  must  burn 
for  some  one's  comfort  in  the  cold,  bleak  days  of  De- 
cember, and  it  is  something  of  a  blessing  in  the  poor 
man's  cup  that  he  is  permitted  to  raise  the  blaze.  But 
then,  say  you,  it  is  his  last  log!  Who  shall  say  that? 
Who  shall  dare  to  say  that  God's  charity  must  have 
a  limit  ? — that  this  man,  who  knew  so  well  how  to 
warm  his  hearth  for  the  blessing  of  his  neighbors, 
shall  be  permitted  to  make  no  more  pleasant  fires  ? 
I  tell  you,  short-sighted  mortal,  that,  even  beside  that 
last  log,  you  may  yet  see  some  celestial  visitant  in 
fustian  habit.  It  is  thus  that  an  unquestioning  hos- 
pitality is  sometimes  permitted  to  entertain  an  angel ! 
With  the  smoke  of  that  last  log,  around  which  the 
unlucky  man,  obedient  to  a  custom  which  he  learned  in 
his  better  days,  has  gathered  in  his  humble  neighbors, 
there  goes  up  to  heaven  a  rare  incense  which  makes 
acceptable,  and  may  make  profitable  also,  that  last  sacri- 
fice of  wealth.  Let  the  log  burn,  then  !  Wouldst  thou 
throw  water  on  the  cheerful  gleams  which  light  up  all 
these  ruddy  faces  ?  Wouldst  thou  silence  the  merry 
crackling  of  that  flaming  pile  ?  Wouldst  thou  put  out 
those  pleasant  charities  which  thus,  if  only  once  a 
year,  are  kindled  to  make  one's  fellow  warm  ?  Out 
upon  thee,  for  a  doubter  of  God's  providence  !  Get 
thee  to  thy  own  home,  and  put  thy  only  stick  upon 
the  fire,  and  call  in  him  who  passes,  that  thou  mayest 
not  selfishly  and  sadly  sit  alone  to  see  it  burn  !  Then 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  323 

will  the  Father  of  those  who  gladden  at  the  blaze,  so 
gladden  thee  as  that  thou  shalt  never  lack  thy  log  at 
Yule. 

Now,  if  thou  wilt  believe  me,  brother,  there  is  a 
purpose  in  this  long  preamble.  Just  such  was  the 
tenor  of  that  shrill  but  lively  crow  which  issued  from 
the  capacious  lungs  of  that  famous  old  cock  of  St. 
Matthews,  who  held  in  fee  the  extensive  domains  of 
"Maize-in-milk."*  The  master  of  "  Maize-in-milk" 
was  a  sovereign  in  his  way,  whose  power  was  known 
only  by  its  bounty.  His  was  one  of  the  finest  planta- 
tions for  peas,  potatoes,  Indian  corn,  and  short  cottons, 
in  Carolina — not  a  very  great  one,  it  is  true  ;  not  so 
large  nor  so  thickly  settled  as  an  hundred  others  in 
the  same  and  other  districts,  but  just  such  a  snug, 
productive  interest  as  enabled  the  proprietor  to  do  the 
handsome  thing  by  his  neighbor,  and  to  entertain  his 
guest  like  a  gentleman.  Colonel  Openheart  was  one 
of  those  generous  and  frank  planters  whom  men  smiled 
to  name,  with  pleasant  recollections  of  the  warmest 
welcome  and  the  finest  cheer.  And  even  now,  with 
his  feathers  somewhat  ruffled  by  resistance  and  unex- 
pected provocation,  it  was  delightful  to  behold  the 
bland  visage  and  the  good-humored  smile  which  took 
all  anger  from  his  aspect.  Anger,  indeed  !  It  was 
rare  enough  to  see  him  angry.  We  tell  you,  he  was 
only  ruffled,  not  roused,  and  just  enough  touched  by 
opposition,  to  show  how  animated  he  could  become 
even  in  his  benevolence.  There  he  sits  at  the  ample 

*  Indian  corn  not  yet  ripe,  but  ready  in  the  ear  for  the  table. 


324  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

fireside,  in  which  great  logs  of  oak  and  hickory  are 
yielding  themselves  up  in  flake  and  flash,  and  hiss  and 
sparkle,  his  face  glowing  like  the  fire,  warm,  bright, 
capacious  ;  cheeks  smooth  as  a  woman's,  a  beard  care- 
fully kept  down  by  a  persuasive  razor,  and  his  flowing 
locks  just  beginning  to  whiten  at  the  ends,  and  slightly 
showing  their  snows  against  the  warmer  colors  of  his 
neck  and  cheek.  And  how  his  great  blue  eyes  dilate 
under  the  high,  broad  forehead,  as  he  looks  around 
him  with  a  mixed  expression  of  amazement  and  satis- 
faction, taking  in  at  the  same  glance  the  gentle  and 
matron-like  lady  who  presides  at  the  evening  board, 
from  around  which  the  chairs  have  already  been  with- 
drawn; and  the  tall  and  graceful  damsel  of  fifteen, 
who,  standing  at  her  side,  plies  deftly  the  snow-white 
napkin  over  the  dripping  teacup.  I  am  not  sure  that 
the  comprehensive  glance  of  Colonel  Openheart  fails  to 
notice  the  nice  little  juvenile  episode  which  escapes 
the  eyes  of  the  ladies,  and  which  presents  itself  upon 
the  great  and  antique  sofa  gracing  the  opposite  end 
of  the  apartment.  There,  but  scarcely  enough  in  the 
foreground  to  constitute  a  portion  of  the  picture,  you 
may  see  Tom  Openheart,  a  stout  lad  of  nine  or  ten 
years,  exhausted  by  a  long  day's  squrrel  hunt,  with 
his  own  rifle  and  on  his  own  pony,  drowsing  into 
gradual  obliviousness  of  life  and  all  its  excitements, 
his  arms  thrown  above  his  head,  one  of  his  legs  secure 
on  the  sofa  with  his  trunk,  while  the  other  wanders 
off,  quietly  conducting  to  a  neighboring  chair,  to  the 
leg  of  which  Dick  Openheart,  a  mischievous  urchin  of 
seven  or  eight,  busily  fastens  it  by  the  aid  of  his  sis- 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  325 

ter's  handkerchief.  The  father's  and  mother's  have 
already  been  disposed  of  in  making  secure  the  other 
equally  pliant  members  of  Tom  Openheart ;  and  anon, 
when  the  fastenings  are  all  complete,  you  may  look 
for  some  cunning  explosion  by  which  the  Gulliver  will 
be  made  to  start  from  his  slumbers  in  terror,  only  to 
be  taught  the  strangeness  of  his  captivity. 

I  will  not  pretend  to  say  that  eur  excellent  colonel 
sees  this  episode.  The  pleasant  twinkle  which  lights 
the  corner  of  his  eye,  and  which  is  somewhat  at  vari- 
ance with  the  words  of  his  mouth,  may  be  due  to 
other  influences ;  but  it  must  be  admitted,  for  the  sake 
of  history,  that  even  were  he  to  see  the  practice  of 
Dick  in  this  transaction,  it  is  still  not  unlikely  that 
he  would  suffer  it  to  pass  unchallenged.  The  good 
man  would  ascribe  it  to  the  season — to  a  natural  levity 
— to  any  but  a  heinous  and  evil  nature,  which  called 
for  rebuke  and  punishment.  He  had  a  queer  notion 
that  children  were — only  children,  and  that  play 
was  as  necessary  to  their  hearts,  their  growth,  nay, 
their  morals,  as  birch,  logic,  and  religion — doctrines 
which,  in  this  era  of  juvenile  progress,  cannot  be  sup- 
posed likely  to  diffuse  themselves  greatly,  and  of 
which  we  venture,  therefore,  to  speak  without  emo- 
tion. It  is  probable  that  Colonel  Openheart's  atten- 
tion was  wholly  given  to  his  good  lady  and  his  lovely 
daughter.  They  at  least  were  his  only  listeners. 
There  was  an  air  of  sadness  upon  the  features  of  the 
excellent  matron,  which,  however,  were  not  wholly 
unlighted  by  a  smile ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
lips  of  the  damsel  were  parted  with  an  undisguised 
28 


326  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

expression  of  merriment — positively  on  the  verge  of 
open  laughter — the  pearls  of  her  mouth  showing 
the  white  tips  through  their  crimson  setting,  with  a 
good-humor  and  an  arch  delight  that  were  clearly 
quite  irresistible.  Very  sweet  and  very  pretty  was 
this  expression  of  the  face  of  Bessy  Openheart,  and 
the  jade  knew  it.  She  was  a  blonde,  and  with  fea- 
tures of  wondrous  regularity.  Full  of  life  and  viva- 
city, there  was  yet  a  rich  fountain  of  gushing  waters  at 
her  heart,  and  her  large  blue  eyes  had  learned  how  to 
fill  with  tears  even  before  the  happy  smile  could  make 
its  escape  from  her  pretty  little  mouth.  But  we  must 
not  speak  of  her  too  soon.  She  is  a  mere  child  as 
yet — scarcely  fifteen— just  at  that  age  when  girlhood 
begins  to  falter  with  its  own  gaze,  and  when  we  begin 
to  look  upon  it  with  as  much  trepidation  as  delight. 
But  Colonel  Openheart  is  about  to  resume. 

"Not  keep  Christmas,  Mrs.  Openheart — not  keep 
Christmas?  Why,  what  in  the  world  should  I  do 
with  myself,  my  dear,  or  with  you,  or  Bessy  there,  or 
Tom,  Dick,  Harry,  and  the  rest,  from  Christmas  eve 
till  New  Year's  ?  And  what  should  we  do  with  the 
neighbors — with  Whitfield,  and  Jones,  and  Whipple, 
and  Bond,  and  poor  old  Kinsale,  and  all  their  wives 
and  little  ones,  all  of  whom  have  spent  Christmas 
and  New  Year's  with  us  for  the  last  hundred  years  or 
more.  Some  of  them  certainly  did  with  my  grand- 
father. Old  Kinsale  can  tell  you  of  the  first  dinner 
he  ever  took  on  this  estate  in  the  time  of  Grandfather 
Openheart,  and  that  was  a  Christmas  dinner.  He 
can  tell  you  every  dish  upon  the  table.  There  were 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OP  THE  SOUTH.  327 

ham  and  turkey  just  as  now — there  was  roast  and 
boiled — there  was  a  round  of  beef — there  were  sau- 
sages and  pillau — there  were  sundry  pairs  of  ducks, 
cabbage  and  turnips,  and  potatoes ;  and  for  dessert, 
nuts,  apples,  mince-pies,  plum-puddings,  and  more 
preserves  than  you  could  shake  a  stick  at.  More 
than  thirty  persons  sat  down  to  table;  and  to  speak 
of  the  old  man's  Madeira,  brings  tears  of  pleasure 
into  the  eyes  of  Daddy  Kinsale  to  this  moment.  I 
tell  you,  old  Billy  Openheart  is  venerated  to  this  day 
on  account  of  his  Christmas  cheer.  Not  keep  Christ- 
mas! Why,  how  would  you  avoid  it,  I'd  like  to 
know?  They'd  be  here,  all  of  them,  fresh  and  fast- 
ing, I  may  say,  before  you  could  roll  the  Christmas 
log  behind  the  dogs,  and  dress  up  your  windows  with 
the  holly  and  cacina.  They'd  be  here  to  help  you,  as 
they  have  been  for  the  last  fifty  years.  Bond  and 
Whipple  always  came  early,  for  that  purpose,  and  I 
think  I  have  heard  you  say  that  little  Susan  Bond 
was  the  cleverest  little  creature  in  the  world  at  dress- 
ing up  the  windows,  and  glasses,  and  flower-pots,  with 
the  green  leaves  and  the  scarlet-berries.  To  think 
of  the  windows  of  "  Maize-in-milk"  looking  bare  at 
Christmas!  Think  of  "Maize-in-milk"  having  no 
visitors  at  Christmas — no  fun,  no  frolic,  no  dancing, 
no — 1  By  the  pipers,  Mrs.  Openheart,  I  don't 
know  how  to  understand  you.  Talk  of  not  keeping 
Christmas!  Why,  what  in  the  name  of  blazes  would 
you  do  with  me,  with  yourself,  with  Bessy,  Clinton 
there,  and  dear  little  Rose,  and  Tom,  and  Dick,  and 


328  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

Harry,  and  the  rest,  from  Christmas  eve  till  New 
Year's?" 

"  Well,  to  say  the  truth,  dear  husband,  I  did  not 
think  of  spending  Christmas  at  home  at  all,  this 
season." 

"  Not  spend  Christmas  at  home  !"  cried  the  colonel, 
•with  renewed  amazement.  "  And  where,  in  Heaven's 
name,  would  you  think  to  spend  it?" 

"Why,  down  in  the  parishes  with  Uncle  Thomas. 
He's  often  asked  us,  you  know — " 

"  With  Uncle  Thomas  in  the  parishes !  Go  from 
home  to  spend  Christmas !  After  that,  I  should  not 
be  astonished  at  any  of  your  notions.  .  But,  pray, 
Mrs.  Openheart,  when  did  you  know  your  Uncle 
Thomas  to  spend  Ms  Christmas  away  from  home?" 

There  was  a  pause,  when  the  good  dame,  finding 
that  her  husband  really  waited  her  answer,  meekly 
admitted  that  such  an  e-^ent  had  certainly  never  taken 
place  within  her  remembrance. 

"No — no!  You  may  well  say  that.  Well,  only 
go  to  him  and  talk  of  spending  Christmas  away  from 
home.  Try  him,  Mrs.  Openheart,  by  an  affectionate 
invitation  to  come  and  stay  with  us  Christmas  week, 
and  you'll  get  an  answer  that  will  astonish  you.  You 
will  certainly  astonish  him  by  the  invitation.  No — 
no;  he's  too  much  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school — 
one  of  the  good  old  Carolina  stock,  who  knows  what 
his  duties  are  at  Christmas — who  knows  what  is 
due  to  his  neighbors  and  to  hospitality,  and  who 
knows — " 

"But,  my  dear,  considering  what  our  expenses  are, 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  329 

and  how  greatly  they  have  been  increased  of  late, 
Edward  in  Europe,  and  the  sending  of  John  and  Wil- 
liam to  college — the  purchase  of  the  old  Salem  tract 
—the—" 

"Poh !  poh  !  poh  !  Positively,  Emily,  I  am  ashamed 
of  you.  This  is  only  too  ridiculous.  You  are  for 
letting  in  at  the  spigot  and  letting  out  at  the  bung. 
As  for  the  Salem  tract,  it  needs  but  one  good  crop,  at 
good  prices,  and  I  pay  for  that ;  and  that  I  should 
give  up  the  acquaintance  of  my  old  neighbors,  Tom 
Whipple,  Elias  Bond,  and  Daddy  Kinsale,  because 
my  eldest  son  is  frolicking  on  the  continent,  and  two 
others  have  just  had  an  introduction  to  those  gray- 
beards,  Cicero  and  Homer — " 

"  Now,  husband,  you  know  I  don't  mean  that  you 
should  give  up  the  acquaintance  of  anybody — " 

"You  do,  Emily,  h  you  mean  anything.  It  would 
amount  to  the  same  thing.  Not  to  have  my  house 
full  of  my  old  friends,  as  usual  at  Christmas,  would 
be  such  a  strangeness  as  would  make  them  all  feel 
strange.  They'd  look  upon  me  as  a  broken  man,  or 
as  a  changed  one,  and  in  either  case  they'd  become 
changed  also ;  and  then,  in  place  of  the  cheerful 
household  and  pleasant  neighborhood  that  we  have 
had  all  along,  there  would  be  doubt,  and  coldness, 
and  restraint — and  all  for  what?  Really,  Emily,  I 
can't  see  what  you'd  be  driving  at." 

"But  you  could  still  see  your  neighbors." 

"Not  as  before,  Emily.  A  people  so  sparsely  set- 
tled as  our  own,  so  very  unsophisticated,  and  with 
that  fierce  sort  of  pride  which  distinguishes  a  life  of 
28* 


330  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

comparative  seclusion,  are  very  easily  made  suspicious. 
They  are,  in  particular,  exceedingly  jealous  of  any 
eccentricities  on  the  part  of  the  wealthy.  Change  your 
habit  toward  them  in  any  respect — let  your  demeanor 
change  in  however  slight  degree,  and  they  resent 
it  as  a  something  sinister,  which  is  always  personal 
to  themselves.  It  wouldn't  do  to  go  out  and  see  them 
at  the  fence ;  I  must  ask  them  in — and  once  in,  the 
horse  must  be  put  up.  And  I  can't  say, '  Well,  Bond' 
— or  Whipple,  or  Jones,  or  Daddy  Kinsale,  as  the 
case  may  be — '  very  glad  to  see  you  always,  but  sorry 
I  can  offer  you  nothing.  Truth  is,  times  are  very 
hard,  and  that  lark  of  mine  in  Europe,  and  those  two 
dogs,  Jack  and  Will,  they  cost  me  a  pretty  penny 
nowadays.  Have  to  haul  in  my  horns,  lest  the 
sheriff  pulls  them  off.' ' 

"  Now,  husband,  you  know  I  allude  to  nothing  of 
this  sort.  It's  only  the  usual  waste  that  I'd  have  you 
avoid  until  you've  got  out  of  debt." 

"  Debt !  Why,  Mrs.  Openheart,  you  speak  as  if  I 
were  over  head  and  ears  !  What  do  I  owe,  that  I 
can't  pay  off  with  a  single  good  crop  ?" 

"You  said  the  same  thing  last  year." 

The  brave  colonel  seemed  to.  wince  at  this  sugges- 
tion. 

"  And  as  for  waste — what  waste  ?  Do  I  waste  any- 
thing at  Christmas,  or  any  other  time  ?  Is  not  all 
consumed  that  we  cook?  Is  anything  thrown  away? 
Are  there  not  mouths  for  all?  What  we  and  our 
guests  do  not  consume,  does  it  not  go  to  the  negroes  ? 
What  they  don't  want,  does  it  not  go  to  the  dogs  and 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  331 

hogs,  and  ducks  and  chickens  ?  I  never  see  anything 
wasted.  Really,  Mrs.  Openheart,  I  can't  understand 
you.  If  you  mean  anything,  it  is  that  we  are  to  kill 
no  beef  at  Christmas,  have  no  sausages,  drink  no  egg- 
nog,  and,  I  suppose,  for  the  first  time  since  we've  been 
married,  now  going  on  fifty  years  — " 

"  Oh,  husband— fifty  years  !" 

"  Yes,  fifty  years,  more  or  less." 

"Less  by  half — only  twenty-six  last  November." 

"  Is  it  possible !  And  I  said  sixty !  Well,  it's  cer- 
tain I've  counted  the  years  by  their  pleasures." 

A  sweet,  comical  smile  went  round  the  circle.  He 
continued:  "Well,  as  I  was  saying,  here  then,  for 
the  first  time  since  our  marriage,  some  forty-two 
years,  as  you  yourself  admit,  we  are  to  have  no 
mince-pies — " 

"  Nay,  my  dear;  I  didn't  mean  that  we  were  to  go 
without  them.  As  you  have  bought  the  raisins,  the 
citron,  and  the  currants,  and  as  the  hogs  are  already 
killed—" 

"  Oh !  your  only  anxiety,  then,  is  to  keep  these 
things  from  being  wasted;  but  if  that  was  your  pru- 
dent intention,  what  do  you  propose  to  do  with  these 
nice  things,  after  you  have  made  them  up,  if  we  are 
to  spend  our  Christmas  with  your  Uncle  Thomas?" 

"  Why,  I  thought  of  taking  them  down  with  us." 

"Indeed!  and  precious  little  would  Uncle  Thomas, 
in  his  abundance,  thank  you  for  your  pies.  But, 
pray,  in  what  respect  should  we  be  more  wasteful  in 
consuming  them  at  home  here,  among  our  own  poor 
neighbors,  than  down  in  the  parishes,  with  the  rich 


332  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

ones  of  Uncle  Thomas?  Really,  Emily,  I  thought 
you  were  a  better  reasoner." 

"  Well,  Edward,  you  do,  indeed,  make  out  a  case 
against  me,  and  if  the  mince-pies  were  the  whole  of 
our  consumption  in  staying  at  home,  as  they  will  be 
in  going  down  to  the  parishes,  then  your  reproach 
would  be  conclusive  ;  but  you  know,  Edward,  that 
these  would  form  but  a  small  part  of  our  expense. 
They  would  not  be  alone;  your  Madeira,  and  Sherry, 
and  Champagne — your  beeves,  your  hogs,  your  tur- 
kies,  and  the  horses  of  a  dozen  idle  and  worthless 
people  eating  at  your  corn-crib,  and  that  not  the  full- 
est in  the  world — " 

"It  is  full,  Emily; — but  I  must  stop  you  before 
you  go  too  far.  We  can't  always  say  who  are  the 
worthless  in  this  world.  I  am  sometimes  disposed  to 
think  that  the  most  worthless  have  their  uses,  and  to 
suspect  that  the  most  worthy  are  not  always  of  the 
value  we  put  upon  them.  When  I  recollect  how  little 
I  do  myself  in  the  way  of  work,  and  of  how  little  real 
service  I  am  to  myself  or  to  anybody  else,  in  compa- 
rison with  what  I  might  be,  I  feel  as  if  some  malicious 
devil  was  jerking  at  my  elbow  in  mockery,  at  those 
moments  when  I  suffer  myself  to  talk  of  the  little 
worth  or  value  of  my  neighbors.  I  tell  you,  Emily, 
I  can't  any  longer  bring  myself  to  feel  contempt  for 
any  human  being,  though  I  may  sicken  at  the  vicious- 
ness  of  some,  and  sorrow  over  the  idleness  of  others." 

"  Now,  really,  Edward,  you  shall  not  speak  so 
slightingly  of  yourself.  Are  you  not  always  busy? 
Do  you  not  manage  your  own  plantation  ?" 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  333 

"After  a  fashion;  but  I'm  not  sure  that  my  man- 
agement is  at  all  creditable  to  me,  or  serviceable  to 
my  interests." 

"  You  are  never  idle." 

"I  make  chips  enough,  I  grant  you;  but  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  am  always  profitably  busy." 

"Your  negroes  improve,  increase,  become  more 
honest,  sober,  industrious,  happy,  more  human  every 
year." 

"  Thank  God,  I  can  conscientiously  believe  all 
that." 

"  They  love  you,  thank  you,  and  go  cheerfully  to 
their  tasks." 

"Ay,  ay;  so  they  do,  and  so  far — But  what  is 
that  fellow  about?  As  usual,  busy  in  tormenting  his 
brother.  Ho  there,  you  dog ;  get  you  to  bed,  and 
wake  up  Tom,  that  he  may  go  along  with  you  !  What 
are  you  doing  with  the  boy?" 

"Only  you  call  him  up,  papa,"  was  the  sly  response 
of  the  dutiful  urchin. 

"  Call  him  up  yourself — push  him — rout  him  up." 

The  boy  stooped  over  the  elder  brother,  and,  with 
a  closer  eye,  the  worthy  sire  might  have  seen  with 
what  delicate  consideration  he  introduced  a  feather  of 
broom-straw  into  the  ears  and  nostrils  of  the  sleeper. 
A  scream  followed,  then  a  roar  and  scuffle.  The  leg 
of  Tom,  as  he  started  from  his  slumbers,  was  found 
to  be  inextricably  involved  with  that  of  the  chair,  and 
both  went  over  with  a  clatter  that  startled  the  good 
mother  in  her  chair,  and  shook  the  whole  house  from 
its  propriety. 


334  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

"Why,  what  have  you  done?" 

The  victim  was  not  yet  sufficiently  awake  to  know 
well  what  was  the  matter  with  him,  but  struggled  to 
throw  out  his  fettered  hands  as  in  the  act  of  swim- 
ming. The  father  saw  his  predicament,  and  as  he 
and  Bessy  Clinton  stooped  to  undo  the  ties  with 
which  the  mischievous  boy  had  fettered  the  lad,  the 
urchin  clapped  his  hands  in  exultation,  and  flew  away 
to  the  door. 

"  To  bed,  sirrah  !"  said  Colonel  Openheart,  with  a 
voice  in  which  authority  struggled  hard  with  merri- 
ment ;  "to  bed,  before  I  give  you  the  strap." 

"No,  no,  papa!  Don't  I  know  it's  Christmas  time 
— and  what's  the  use  of  Christmas  if  there's  to  be  no 
fun,  I  want  to  know?" 

"  The  boy  has  the  right  on't.  What's  the  use  of 
Christmas  if  there's  to  be  no  fun  ?  There  shall  be 
fun,  sirrah,  but  your  share  of  it  must  cease  for  the 
night.  To  bed,  both  of  you." 

"  But  to-morrow,  papa!"  said  both  of  the  boys  in 
a  breath. 

"  You  shall  have  the  ponies,  and  we'll  go  to  the 
river ;  and  we'll  take  the  dogs,  and  see  if  we  can't  put 
up  a  wild-cat.  There,  enough  for  the  night." 

And  the  boys  were  kissed  and  disappeared. 

"And  these  are  to  lose  their  Christmas — and  the 
neighbors,  and  the  negroes,  and  all,  for  no  better 
reason  than  to  save  the  waste,  as  if  there  could  be 
any  waste  in  making  so  many  persons  happy.  And 
you,  Bessy  Clinton,  that  you  should  side  with  your 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  335 

mother  for  having  Christmas  away  from  home.  You 
deserve  a  whipping  for  it  Bess." 

"Ah,  papa,  you  never  whipped  me  yet." 

"It's  not  too  late  to  begin!"  and  he  took  the  dam- 
sel about  the  waist,  and  she  turned  in  his  embrace 
and  lifted  her  lips  to  his  own,  and  he  kissed  her  with 
delight  as  he  said :  "  Well,  well,  we'll  put  it  off  till 
the  New  Year.  I  haven't  the  heart  £or  whipping  just 
now.  But  then — " 

"But  Bessy  Clinton  did  not  join  with  me,  husband. 
She  was  quite  opposed  to  it." 

"  Ah,  that  alters  the  case.  You  shall  have  Christ- 
mas at  home.  And  Bessy  Clinton,  for  your  reward, 
hear  farther — " 

"What,  papa?" 

"You  shall  have  your  old  friend,  Mary  Butler, 
to  spend  it  with  you." 

"  Oh !  will  she  come,  papa?     Can  you  get  her  ?" 

"Ay,  will  she.  And  more  than  that,  mamma,  I've 
bought  in  all  the  Butler  negroes — bought  them  in  for 
her  benefit,  to  save  them  from  that  shark  of  a  lawyer 
who  manages  the  estate." 

"  Surely,  Mr.  Openheart,  you  haven't  made  such  a 
purchase?"  anxiously  inquired  the  mother. 

"Ay,  but  I  have." 

"What!  bought  in  all  the  negroes?" 

"All  but  a  single  family.  Thirty-five  workers, 
seventy-one  negroes  in  all — and  gave  a  pretty  good 
price  for  them,  too." 

"  How  much  ?"  asked  the  matron,  with  increasing 
concern. 


336  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

"Two  hundred  and  sixty  dollars  round." 

"Good  heavens!  And  how  are  you  to  pay  for 
them?" 

"  I  have  three  years  to  pay  it  in,  Emily — first  in- 
stalment next  December  of  five  thousand  dollars,  and 
the  balance  in  equal  parts  the  next  two  years.  The 
terms  are  quite  easy." 

"But  how  are*you  to  pay  it,  husband?" 

"How?  Why,  surely,  you  don't  suppose  that  I 
shan't  make  a  sufficient  crop  next  season  to  pay  five 
thousand  dollars !" 

"Have  you  done  so  this ?" 

"  No !  Why  do  you  ask,  when  you  know  that  this 
crop  is  a  failure  ?" 

"Ah — should  the  next  be  so?" 

"  Ton  my  honor,  Mrs.  Openheart,  you  do  contrive 
to  suggest  the  prettiest  prospects." 

tc  But  why  did  you  buy  these  negroes,  Mr.  Open- 
heart  ?  You  have  more  than  you  want  already,  and 
more  than  are  profitable." 

"  True  bill,  Emily." 

"  You  have  scarcely  any  open  land  more  than  your 
present  force  can  work." 

"  Go  to  clearing  on  the  first  of  January.  Plenty 
to  clear,  thank  God." 

"But  that  is  fatal  to  your  woodland;  and  really, 
Mr.  Openheart,  the  question  comes  up  again — why  did 
you  buy  a  property  which  you  don't  want,  and  which 
you  know  to  be  so  unprofitable  ?  Besides,  the  Butler 
negroes  are  particularly  unserviceable.  I  don't  know 
where  you  will  find  so  many  gray-headed  people. 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  337 

Some  of  them  haven't,  to  my  knowledge,  done  a  stitch 
of  work  for  ten  years ;  and  there's  at  least  a  dozen 
old  negroes,  who  can  barely  totter  along  with  the 
palsy." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Emily,  it  was  these  very 
old  negroes  that  caused  me  to  huy — these,  and  the 
dear  child,  Mary  Butler,  who  sat  weeping  in  the  house 
as  the  sale  was  going  on,  with  these  infirm  old  people 
hanging  about  her.  They  had  dandled  the  child  on 
their  knee,  and  there  wasn't  one  of  them,  from  Daddy 
Enoch  to  Maum  Betty,  the  one-eyed,  whom  she  didn't 
regard  as  a  personal  relation.  They  wept  and  pleaded 
with  her,  and  her  weeping  was  so  much  pleading  with 
me.  Besides,  I  found  that  Skinflint,  the  man  who 
acts  as  lawyer  for  Ingelhart  and  Cripps,  the  execu- 
tors, was  disposed  to  buy  them  at  his  own  prices,  and 
nobody  would  bid  against  him.  Indeed,  there  was 
nobody  willing  to  buy  property  just  at  this  season — 
you  will  say  they  were  wiser  than  your  husband. 
Perhaps  so.  But  they  would  have  gone  to  Skinflint 
for  nothing.  His  first  bid  was  a  hundred  all  round, 
and  I  at  once  doubled  it.  I  was  indignant  at  the  fel- 
low's bid,  and  wasn't  to  be  deceived  by  the  whisper 
that  went  about,  intended  to  discourage  others,  that 
he  was  bidding  in  for  the  heiress.  I  knew  better, 
and  when  he  found  I  was  in  earnest,  he  run  upon 
me." 

"  But  why  did  you  let  him  do  it?  Why  not  stop 
at  the  two  hundred  ?" 

"  Ask  a  man  when  his  blood's  up  why  he  isn't  cool. 
I  was  a  fool — I  know  it,  Emily,  and  you  may  re- 
29 


338 

proach  me  as  you  will  for  it.  I  knew  no  more  what 
I  was  about  than  if  I  had  lost  my  wits.  The  sight  of 
the  dear,  sweet  little  orphan  in  her  sorrows,  totally 
unmanned  me.  I  had  always  seen  her  so  happy  and 
so  bright  before — and  I  could  not  help  remembering 
what  a  pet  she  was  of  the  dear  angel  mother.  And 
poor  Ben  Butler  was  such  a  sterling  fellow.  Nobody 
wanted  a  dollar  if  he  had  it.  I  thought  of  all  these 
things  in  a  moment.  I  fancied  I  heard  the  father 
whispering  in  my  ears,  and  that  I  saw  the  mother 
pleading  with  all  her  eyes,  and  my  own  grew  to  be 
quite  blinded  by  my  tears.  And,  then,  old  Enoch  tot- 
tered to  me  in  the  piazza,  staff  in  hand,  and  his  gray 
beard  hanging  on  his  chest,  and  his  old  eyes,  half  shut 
up  by  age,  were  dripping  too  ;  and,  taking  my  arm, 
he  said  to  me,  'Mauss  Openheart,  you  surely  ain't 
gwine  to  let  us  go  off  to  strange  people?' — only  these 
words,  and  they  finished  my  struggles.  Just  then, 
Skinflint  said  one  hundred  round,  and  I  mounted  him 
with  another.  I  knew  his  game,  the  moment  I  heard 
his  voice.  And  when  he  said  to  me,  i  Really,  Mr. 
Openheart,  I  had  no  idea  that  you  wished  to  increase 
your  force/  I  swore  in  my  own  mind  that  he  at  least 
shouldn't  have  them.  You've  heard  the  whole  story. 
The  negroes  are  to  be  here  to-morrow,  and  Mary  But- 
ler, and  Skinflint  himself,  who  is  to  bring  the  bonds 
and  bill  of  sale." 

"  Well,  Edward,  I  only  hope  that  you  may  not 
suffer  by  your  benevolence." 

"Nay,  never  fear,  Emily.  I'm  rash  and  head- 
strong, I  know,  and  have  done  many  foolish  things  ; 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  339 

but  I  feel  sure  that  I  shan't  suffer  for  this  helping  of 
the  orphan,  and  keeping  these  poor  dependent  crea- 
tures from  being  scattered  over  the  face  of  the  earth. 
The  probability  is  that  my  bonds  will  scarcely  be  pre- 
sented for  payment  so  long  as  the  interest  is  regularly 
paid.  The  executors,  Ingelhart  and  Cripps,  can  make 
no  better  investment  of  the  money,  and  it  will  be  a 
very  nice  sum  for  her  when  she  is  of  age — or  I  am 
prepared  to  let  her  have  the  negroes  back  if  she  pre- 
fers it  then.  The  plantation  was  not  sold." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  with  these  old  negroes, 
Edward?" 

The  answer  was  somewhat  impatiently  spoken. 

"  Feed  them  first,  Emily  ;  clothe  them,  give  them 
Christmas.  We'll  kill  a  beef  for  them  to-morrow  to 
begin  with,  and  pray  God  to-night  for  good  times, 
that  we  may  be  enabled  to  feed  them  always,  from 
Christmas  to  Christmas,  as  well  as  now.  So  now  to 
bed,  and  see  that  you  rise  before  the  sun,  Bessy  Clin- 
ton. You  have  to  see  to  the  pies  and  pastries.  It's 
now  one  week  to  Christmas,  and" — looking  out  from 
the  windows — "  a  bright  starlight  night,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  watchman.  May  we  wake  to  a  bright, 
dry,  and  honest  winter  morning !" 


340  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 


CHAPTER    II. 

So  now  is  come  our  joyfulest  feast, 

Let  every  man  be  jolly ; 
Each  room  with  ivy  leaves  be  drest, 

And  every  post  with  holly. 
Though  some  churls  at  our  mirth  repine, 
Round  your  foreheads  garlands  twine ; 
Drown  sorrow  in  a  cup  of  wine, 

And  down  with  melancholy. 

SligMy  altered  from  George  Wither,  1622. 

THE  day  of  Christmas  eve  dawned  propitiously 
upon  the  broad  fields  and  groves  of  "  Maize-in-milk." 
There  never  had  been,  in  all  the  South,  a  brighter  or 
sweeter  December  sunshine.  Nature  seemed  to  have 
yielded  herself  wholly  to  the  moral  of  the  season. 
She  had  put  on  her  gayest  habiliments  ;  the  earth 
sent  up  a  perfume  less  penetrating  and  diffusive, 
perhaps,  but  not  less  sweet  and  persuasive  than  in  the 
spring  time,  and  the  woods  wore  such  robes  as  autumn 
had  bestowed  upon  them — glorious,  rich  investitures 
of  crimson  and  yellow,  which  made  gum,  oak,  and 
poplar  look  each  like  a  sovereign  prince  begirt  by  his 
obsequious  courtiers.  Christmas  in  Carolina  is  very 
apt  to  be  vexed  with  storm  and  rain,  a  fatal  conjunc- 
tion for  thousands  of  schemes  of  juvenile  delight  and 
delinquency.  But  the  present  promises  to  be  quite 
as  favorable  to  the  plans  of  happy-hearted  creatures 
as  the  most  amiable  and  philanthropic  spirits  could 
pray  for  ;  and,  with  the  dawn,  the  three  sons  of  Colo- 
nel Openheart,  Tom,  the  good-fellow,  Dick,  the  mis- 
chievous, and  Harry,  the  little,  starting  from  a  sleep 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OP  THE  SOUTH.  341 

which  teemed  with  the  most  happy  dreams  of  turbu- 
lent enjoyment,  had  darted  into  the  chamber  of  their 
excellent  sire,  and  were  hauling  him  out  of  sleep  and 
bed  at  the  same  moment.  He,  too,  had  been  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  happiest  heart  fancies,  such  as  are 
natural  to  the  fond  and  hopeful  parent.  In  his  sleep- 
ing visions,  he  had  beheld  the  return  of  his  son, 
Edward,  now  travelling  in  Europe,  a  tall  and  hand- 
some youth,  refined  by  foreign  observation,  and  with 
a  mind  generously  expanded  to  the  appreciation  of 
all  that  was  excellent  and  noble  in  foreign  standards. 
William  and  John  were  also  returned  from  college, 
availing  themselves  of  the  brief  respite  of  a  single 
week  accorded  them  during  the  great  religious  holi- 
day of  the  year.  And  other  forms,  almost  equally 
dear,  and  other  images  quite  as  sweet  and  persuasive, 
had  passed  beneath  his  waking  fancy,  while  his  real 
and  earthly  nature  slept.  Sweet  glimpses  of  dear 
Mary  Butler,  and  his  own  fair  daughter,  Bessy  Clin- 
ton, and  vague  and  indistinct  forms  and  aspects,  in 
innocent  relationship  with  these,  all  of  which  aroused 
the  fondest  hopes  and  the  most  grateful  imaginings 
in  the  fond  father's  bosom.  It  was  the  season  when 
all  sights  and  sounds  are  sweet  and  wholesome  to  the 
heart  which  desires  and  exercises  itself  in  wholesome 
influences — when,  as  the  great  bard  expresses  it — 

"  The  bird  of  dawning  singe th  all  night  long : 
And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad ; 
The  nights  are  wholesome  ;  then  no  planets  strike, 
No  fairy  takes,  nor  witch  hath  power  to  charm, 
So  hallowed  and  so  gracious  is  the  time." 
29* 


342  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

And  merrily,  indeed,  and  with  most  vigorous  throat, 
did  the  hundred  voices  of  Mrs.  Openheart's  poultry 
yard  respond  to  each  other  through  the  watches  of 
that  calm  December  night.  Nor  were  these  the  only 
voices  whose  music  somehow  melted  in  with  and 
formed  a  part  of  the  dreams  of  the  excellent  colonel. 
All  around  the  fine  old  mansion-house  of  "  Maize-in- 
Milk,"  the  mock-birds  had  made  homes  for  their  young 
among  the  ancestral  oaks  and  cedars.  Of  these,  the 
bold  choristers  had  maintained  immemorial  posses- 
sion ;  and,  as  some  of  the  trees  spread  their  great 
limbs  even  up  to  the  windows  of  the  dwelling,  against 
the  panes  of  which  their  leaves  rattled  in  the  gusty 
night,  it  was  easy  for  the  Puck  of  the  southern  groves 
to  send  his  capricious  music  through  every  chamber. 
These  had  Colonel  Openheart  been  long  accustomed 
to  hear,  but  it  seemed  as  if,  at  the  approach  of  the 
season  when 

"  a  chyld  was  i-born, 
Us  for  to  savyn  that  al  was  forlorn," 

the  voices  of  the  birds  grew  more  full  and  numerous, 
and  a  generous  and  glad  spirit,  a  soul  of  exultation, 
gave  new  impulse  to  their  merriment  and  music. 
Their  fitful  and  capricious  strains  formed  fitting  echoes 
to  the  fancies  that  swarmed  in  the  good  man's 
visions ;  and  his  own  heart  caught  up  their  echoes, 
and  even  while  his  boys  were  breaking  into  his  cham- 
ber with  their  clamorous  exhortations,  he  might  have 
been  heard  to  murmur  in  his  sleep  broken  fragments 
of  one  of  the  ancient  English  carols — 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  343 

"Now  thrice  welcome  Christmas 
Which  brings  us  good  cheer, 
Minced-pies  and  plum-porridge, 
Good  ale  and  strong  beer,"  &c. 

And  this  was  the  boys'  welcome  as  they  bounced  into 
the  chamber,  and  dispelled,  with  a  single  shout,  all 
the  visions  of  his  sleep. 

"  Why,  what  a  mischief,  boys,  is  the  matter,  that 
you  rout  me  up  at  midnight. 

"  Midnight,  father — why,  the  sun's  a-rising  !" 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  Is  that  any  good  reason  that 
the  father  shouldn't  sleep  ?  You  don't  know  what 
fine  dreams  you  may  have  driven  away  by  your  up- 
roar." 

"  Oh,  this  is  no  time  for  dreaming,  father.  Come, 
up  with  you,  and  let's  go  to  the  river,  and  shoot  off  the 
big  cannon." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  there's  no  resisting  you,"  said 
the  indulgent  sire,  as  he  prepared  to  obey  the  requi- 
sition. 

"  You  will  ruin  those  boys,  Colonel  Openheart," 
murmured  his  excellent  help-meet,  with  some  queru- 
lousness  of  accent,  occasioned  by  the  rude  disturbance 
of  a  slumber  which  had  been  as  precious  full  of  dreams 
in  her  case  as  in  that  of  her  husband. 

"Nay,  never  fear,"  was  the  reply ;  "  the  boys  are 
not  so  easily  spoiled.  The  danger  is  with  the  girls. 
Boys  are  naturally  good — a  little  more  boisterous 
than  their  sisters,  but  better  on  the  whole.  You  women 
are  always  apt  to  confound  honest  impulse  with  mis- 
doing. We  must  let  them  play.  Childhood  is  the 


344  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

season  for  play,  and  play  is  necessary  for  the  heart ; 
and  so,  boys,  let's  go  to  play  heartily,  as  others  go 
to  work.  Now  that  you  have  roused  me,  get  you  gone 
till  I  get  up  and  dress  myself.  I  shan't  stay  long." 
In  a  moment,  their  merry  voices  might  have  been 
heard  upon  the  lawn  in  front,  ringing  clearly  out  in 
the  dry  sweet  atmosphere.  A  gentler  song  suddenly 
took  wing  in  an  adjoining  chamber,  and  the  eyes  of 
father  and  mother  both  twinkled  with  the  lustre  that 
came  directly  from  the  heart,  as  they  heard  the  soft 
but  melodious  accents  of  Bessy  Clinton,  singing,  as 
if  in  preparation  for  the  coming  day,  a  familiar  old 
Christmas  ballad. 

"When  in  Bethl'em  fair  citie, 
Chryst  was  born  to  die  for  me, 
Then  the  angels  sang  with  glee, 
In  Excelsis  gloria. 

"  Ah  !  with  what  a  lovely  bright, 
To  the  herdsmen  shone  the  light, 
Where  he  lay  in  lowly  plight, 

In  Excelsis  gloria. 

"Heavenly  king,  to  save  his  kind, 
Bear  we  still  his  birth  in  mind, 
Singing  ever  as  we  find, 

In  Excelsis  gloria. 

"  Praying,  as  we  sing,  for  grace, 
To  behold,  in  bliss,  his  face, 
Whose  dear  coming  saved  his  race, 
In  Excelsis  gloria." 

"  And  you  think  boys  better  than  girls — naturally 
good,  husband — not  so  easily  spoiled?"  was  the  quiet 
but  ironical  inquiry  of  the  wife,  as  the  last  murmurs 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  345 

of  the  girl's  song  subsided  away,  and  were  followed 
by  a  triumphant  shout  from  below,  and  a  tremendous 
explosion  from  a  huge  blunderbuss,  to  discharge  which 
they  had  not  waited  for  the  father. 

"The  rogues!"  exclaimed  Colonel  Openheart. 
"  But  I  did  the  very  same  thing  myself  when  I  was 
a  lad — the  very  same  thing — nay,  something  worse. 
I  made  a  mine  of  a  whole  canister  of  powder,  and 
nearly  shook  down  the  old  house  on  Briar  Hill  with  a 
single  blast.  That's  the  nature  of  the  animal.  Don't 
let  it  worry  you,  my  dear  Emily ;  they  shoot  and  shout 
while  Bessy  Clinton  smiles  and  sings,  and  I  am  con- 
tent that  they  should  both  enjoy  themselves  in  their 
different  ways.  But  the  rogues  are  impatient ;  hear 
how  they  clamor  !  Emily,  dear  wife,  a  kiss !  God  has 
blessed  us  in  our  children — eight  living  out  of  thirteen, 
five  already  blessed,  and  the  others  blessing  us  !  We 
have  not  lived  in  vain,  dear  wife  ?  And,  hark  you, 
is  that  Bessy  Clinton  again  ?  No ;  it's  dear  little 
Rose.  She  has  awakened  at  fiast,  and  sounds  her 
little  pipes  in  song  also.  How  like  her  voice  to  Bessy 
Clinton's,  and  how  like  both  to  your  own  !  But  the 
horses  are  at  the  door,  and  those  rogues  are  ten  times 
asjiojsy  as  ever.  And  you  don't  like  their  singing, 
Emily,  so  much  as  Bessy  Clinton's,  eh?" 

"  Surely  not.     How  can  you  ask  ?" 

"  Nor  I — nor  I,"  said  the  good-natured  father,  as  he 
hurried  below,  leaving  the  now  thoroughly  awakened 
mother  to  the  embraces  of  the  two  girls,  who  entered 
from  an  inner  chamber,  bearing  in  their  hands  great 


346  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

bunches  of  holly,  pranked  gayly  with  their  own  and 
the  red  berries  of  the  cassina. 

"You  are  late  this  morning,  dear  mother,"  said 
Bessy  Clinton  with  a  kiss ;  and  little  Rose  echoed  the 
opinion  and  followed  the  example. 

"  Late  ?  You  are  as  impatient  as  Dick  and  Harry," 
said  the  mother.  "  I  am  sure  it's  an  hour  sooner 
than  you  rise  usually." 

"  Ah  !  but  it's  Christmas  eve,  mother,  and  we  have 
to  do  a  great  deal.  We  shall  have  them  here,  pretty 
soon,  and  must  get  an  early  breakfast.  Good  old  Mr. 
Bond  will  be  here  betimes  to  help  us,  and  Squire 
Whipple  won't  be  long  after  him." 

"  And  Susan  Bond's  a-coming  too,  mamma,  and 
Sally,"  was  the  eager  assurance  of  little  Rose,  anxious 
to  put  in. 

"  You  are  all  too  like  your  father,  too  impatient, 
children.  But  now  that  you  are  here,  Bessy  Clinton, 
make  yourself  useful.  Put  the  pin  in  this  tippet,  and 
— ah  !  child,  how  you're  sticking  me!" 

"  I'm  so  sorry,  mother  !" 

"  You're  always  so  impatient !  There,  that  will 
do.  Pick  up  your  holly  branches  and  your  berries ; 
such  a  litter  as  you  make.  And  come,  we  will  hurry 
down  and  see  about  breakfast,  so  that  it  be  in  readi- 
ness when  your  father  comes  back.  By  this  time  he's 
half  way  to  the  river." 

And  they  descended  the  stairs.  Bessy  Clinton 
singing  pleasantly,  while  her  fingers  wove  the  green 
bushes  and  the  red  berries  artfully  together,  from 
another  of  the  ancient  carols  with  which  the  English 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  347 

tastes  of  an  affectionate  grandsire  had  long  since  made 
her  familiar. 

"I  am  here,  the  Lord  Chrystmasse, 
Give  me  welcome,  youth  and  lasse, 
For  I  come  to  heal  trespasse, 

Hurtes  of  soule  to  heale  ; 
Dieu  gardcz — this  I  bring, 
And  ye  need,  with  welcoming, 
To  rejoyce  the  man  I  sing, 

Come  for  sinners'  weale. 

"  'Tis  Chryste's  coming  that  ye  see, 
He  who  died  upon  the  tree, 
That  your  souls,  from  sin  set  free, 

Might  be  his  once  more ; 
In  his  blessings,  make  your  cheere, 
Yet  of  evyl  joys  beware ; 
Satan  spreads  his  fatal  snare, 

Though  his  sway  be  o'er ; 

"  Welcome  me,  the  Lord  Chrystmasse — " 

Etcetera !  The  song  was  hushed  in  the  sound  of 
carriage  wheels.  The  neighbors  had  already  begun  to 
make  their  appearance.  Sure  enough,  there  was  good 
old  Mr.  Bond  in  his  homely  "  Jersey,"  and  Susan 
Bond  in  her  nice  white  dimity  and  old-fashioned  tip- 
pet, and  little  Sally,  to  the  delight  of  Rose,  in  her 
faded  calico,  that  sat  upon  her  rounded  limbs  like  the 
sack  upon  her  great-grandmother;  and  they  brought 
along  with  them  bouncing  Joe  Dillon,  a  great  chubby- 
cheeked  lad  of  one  of  the  farther  neighbors,  of  whom 
the  family  at  "  Maize-in-Milk"  as  yet  knew  nothing. 
And  such  a  tumbling  out  of  the  frail  vehicle  as  fol- 
lowed, and  such  a  tumbling  out  of  the  house  to  receive 


348  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

them  as  took  place,  is  quite  beyond  description.  Mrs. 
Openheart  met  old  Mr.  Bond  on  the  threshold,  and 
Bessy  Clinton  took  charge  of  Susan,  while  little  Rose 
led  off  Sally — the  little  also — followed  by  the  chubby 
boy  at  halting  paces.  And  between  Bessy  Clinton  and 
Susan  Bond,  the  work  of  the  day  began  almost  in- 
stantly. The  myrtle  and  the  holly,  the  cassina  and 
the  bamboo  were  instantly  in  requisition,  and  over  the 
great  heavy  windows  and  doors,  and  all  about  the  huge 
mirrors  and  antique  family  pictures,  you  could  see  the 
arches,  and  the  wreaths,  and  festoons  beginning  to  grow 
up  in  green  and  crimson,  giving  to  the  spacious  walls 
and  rooms  a  charming  aspect  of  the  English  Gothic. 
How  sweet  is  work  when  our  tastes  go  with  the  toil, 
and  when  beauty  compensates  industry.  Our  happy 
maidens  were  conscious  of  this  pleasure  in  the  progress 
of  the  labors  of  their  hands ;  and  now  they  put  up  and 
pulled  down,  rearranged  and  altered,  their  tastes  be- 
coming more  and  more  critical  the  more  they  were 
exercised.  And  "  there  now,  Susan,  that  will  so 
please  father,"  declared  at  length  that  Bessy  Clinton 
was  herself  quite  satisfied. 

Leaving  the  girls  thus  happily  engaged,  let  us  fol- 
low the  boys  in  their  excursion  to  the  river.  You 
should  have  seen  the  lads  mount  each  on  his  pony 
not  excepting  Harry  the  little,  who  did  not  seem  a  bit 
too  little  for  the  marshtacky,  brought  all  the  way  from 
Pocotaligo,  which  he  straddled  like  an  infant  centaur. 
Colonel  Openheart,  mounted  on  a  strong,  black  pa- 
rade horse,  upon  which  he  had  more  than  once  mar- 
shalled his  regiment,  led  the  way,  Tom  trying  hard  to 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  349 

keep  beside  him  in  the  narrow  road,  and  Dick  more 
ambitiously  darting  half  the  time  ahead.  They  were 
followed  by  Swift,  Sure,  and  Slow,  three  famous  dogs, 
which  were  the  admiration  of  all  the  hunters  of  St. 
Matthews.  Then  came  Bedford,  the  Superlative,  a 
stout,  gray-headed  negro,  who  officiated  as  high- 
sheriff  over  the  plantation,  carried  out  the  wishes  of 
his  master,  and  reported  progress  nightly ;  a  shrewd 
sensible  negro,  cool  and  steady,  confident  in  his  opin- 
ions, yet  perfectly  respectful,  who  served  God  and  his 
master  as  well  as  he  knew  how,  and,  murdering  the 
king's  English,  seldom  committed  any  more  heinous 
offences.  The  way  of  the  cavalcade  lay  over  hill  and 
dale,  gentle  eminences  and  pleasant  slopes,  and  chiefly 
through  woods  which  were  as  old  as  the  hills  themselves. 
Colonel  Openheart  was  fond  of  trees  and  foliage, 
and  had  so  contrived  his  fields  as  to  maintain  a  fine 
•  body  of  wood  between  each.  Through  these  his 
several  roads  meandered,  and  he  could  pass  to  the  sur- 
vey of  one  field  after  another  without  once  leaving 
the  shelter  of  the  original  forests.  These  were  of 
pine,  or  oak  and  hickory,  interspersed  with  a  pleasant 
variety  of  gum  and  poplar,  and  shrub  trees  of  every 
sort.  Long  reaches  of  swamp  occasionally  relieved 
the  uniform  aspects  of  the  hill  foliage,  by  the  gigan- 
tic forms  of  cypress,  ash,  and  other  trees  of  deciduous 
character.  The  brightness  of  that  sunshiny  December 
morning  had  its  effect  upon  all  parties.  A  cheery 
smile  sat  upon  the  face  of  the  father,  and  brightened 
benevolently  in  his  large  blue  eye ;  the  white  teeth 
of  Bedford,  the  Superlative,  never  displayed  their 
30 


350  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

massive  outlines  more  conspicuously  than  while  riding 
along  with  the  boys,  responding  to  their  eager  inqui- 
ries ;  and  they,  the  lads,  their  young  souls  spoke  out 
only  in  shout  and  caracole,  in  impatient  question  that 
stayed  for  no  reply,  and  in  the  expression  of  an  exult- 
ing confidence  in  the  joys  of  the  clay,  which  nature 
herself  seemed  to  counsel  and  encourage.  The  autumn 
still  lingered  among  the  tree-tops  in  robes  of  saffron 
and  purple ;  and  the  life  which  animated  them  beside 
showed  itself  momently  in  groups  of  squirrels — white, 
black,  and  gray — which,  darting  from  tree  to  tree, 
seemed  really  only  to  sport  themselves  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  cavalcade  and  the  annoyance  of  the  dogs. 
Sometimes  a  covey  of  partridges  flushed  up  from  the 
brown  and  half-withered  foliage  along  the  track,  and 
a  couple  of  great  turkey-hawks  might  be  seen  to  rise, 
sweeping  the  air  over  the  open  field  in  wide  circles, 
with  keen  eye  bent  upon  the  long  grasses,  in  which 
the  rabbit  might  be  supposed  to  have  slept  the  pre- 
vious night.  The  track  pursued  by  the  party,  though 
a  narrow,  was  a  sufficiently  open  one.  Made  studi- 
ously circuitous,  it  was  a  good  two  miles  to  the  river, 
and  every  fifty  or  a  hundred  yards  afforded  some 
pleasant  or  picturesque  changes  to  the  eye.  Now 
they  skirted  a  hill  upon  whose  brow  sits  a  crown  of 
the  noblest  pines,  green,  towering,  and  magnificent ; 
and  now  they  wind  along  a  copse  of  bays,  a  thicket, 
whose  leaves  suffer  only  enough  from  the  winter's  frost 
to  give  forth  those  sweets  of  which  none  of  the 
persuasions  of  the  summer  could  beguile  a  single 
breath.  A  uniform  dark  green  overspreads  this  re- 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OP  THE  SOUTH.  351 

gion,  save  here  and  there  where  a  great  gum-tree, 
rising  in  the  midst,  shakes  a  head  of  glorious  yellow 
aloft  in  lonely  majesty.  And  now  they  pass  into  the 
levels  of  the  swamp,  through  some  choice  cotton  fields, 
in  which,  however,  Colonel  Openheart  sees  but  little 
promise,  during  the  present  season,  of  realizing  the 
usual  bountiful  returns.  They  are  already  nearly 
stripped  of  fruit ;  the  white  pods  which  commonly 
sprinkled  these  fields — as  if  strewn  with  blossoms  of 
the  dogwood,  until  the  last  of  January,  being  quite 
beyond  his  power  to  pick  until  that  period — show 
now  but  a  scattered  whiteness  here  and  there,  which 
rather  mocks  than  satisfies  the  sight. 

"  Bad  business  here,  Bedford,  this  season." 
"Monstrous  bad !"  says  Bedford,  with  a  closing  of 
the  lips  and  a  lugubrious  shaking  of  the  head.  "  Mon- 
strous bad,  sir  ;  but  such  a  portentious  drought  as  de- 
voured us,  and  such  a  tempestious  tornado  as  beat  us 
down  after  it,  jest  as  the  field  was  going  to  blow  in 
September,  was  a  ravaging  of  us  that  no  cotton  could 
stand  under." 

"  We  must  do  better  next  year,  Bedford." 
"  Ef  it's  the  will  of  Providence,  there  shall  be  an- 
other guess  desemblance  in  our  swamp  next  year." 

"  It  must  be,  Bedford,"  was  the  rather  emphatic 
reply  of  the  colonel. 

The  negro  was  silent.  The  master  proceeded : 
"  The  old  Salem  tract  must  be  put  in  order  with  the 
beginning  of  the  New  Year.  You  know  that  I  have 
bought  the  force  of  our  old  friend,  Ben  Butler.  They 
will  be  here  to-day.  We  must  work  them  on  that 


352  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

tract,  and  must  contrive  to  pay  for  them,  in  part,  out  of 
next  year's  crop.  They  are  not  the  best  negroes  in 
the  world,  as  you  know,  but  we  must  manage  them 
with  prudence.  I  look  to  you,  Bedford,  to  do  your 
best" — the  negro  touched  his  beaver — "  and  I  do  not 
doubt  that  you  can  meet  all  my  calculations.  The 
seasons  can  scarcely  be  so  bad  again  as  they  have  been 
for  the  last  two  years." 

But  these  details  are  sufficient.  Crossing  a  pretty 
but  shallow  stream,  which  was  skirted  by  a  growth  of 
gum,  and  traversed  by  occasional  cypresses,  of  im- 
mense size,  that  strode  clear  away,  six  or  eight  feet 
deep  in  the  water,  the  party  emerged  upon  a  ham- 
mock beyond  which  lay  the  river ;  and  the  impatient 
boys  cantered  away  in  front,  while  the  colonel  and 
Bedford  continued  at  a  more  moderate  pace.  When 
the  two  latter  reached  the  banks  of  the  river,  the 
urchins  were  already  dismounted,  and  each  had  his 
pony  fastened  to  the  swinging  limb  of  a  tree;  and  here 
the  object  which  had  brought  them  to  this  point  was 
at  once  presented  conspicuously  to  the  sight.  Here, 
commanding  the  river,  which  was  a  broad  and  turbid 
stream,  with  a  vast  stretch  of  drowned  swamp  spread- 
ing away  on  the  opposite  side,  was  a  tiny  fortress,  a 
redoubt  of  earth,  with  its  bastions  and  its  merlons, 
and  a  neat  little  two-pounder,  looking  out  with  impu- 
dent aspect  upon  the  raftsmen  going  down  the  stream. 
In  a  moment,  the  colonel  unrolled  a  nice  silken  banner, 
upon  which  the  fair  hands  of  Bessy  Clinton  had 
wrought  a  palmetto,  and  it  was  soon  run  up  the  staff, 
and  floating  gayly  above  the  juvenile  ramparts.  And 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  353 

it  was  to  hear  the  thunder  of  this  piece,  and  to  see 
the  smoke  and  fire  issue  from  its  jaws,  that  our  boys, 
Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry,  would  at  any  time  abandon 
the  more  staid  and  regular  amusements  of  the  house- 
hold. The  smaller  piece  at  home,  manufactured  from 
an  old  ship's  blunderbuss,  and  set  on  a  rude  block 
before  the  house,  though  in  itself  a  delight,  and  which 
they  could  venture  to  discharge  themselves,  was  not 
to  be  spoken  of  in  the  same  breath  with  the  more  for- 
midable engine  by  which  the  river  was  commanded. 
Strange  passion  which  the  boy  has  for  guns  and  up- 
roar !  Colonel  Openheart  encouraged  this  passion 
among  his  sons,  and  the  fantastic  notion  of  a  fort  at 
his  landing  on  the  river  was  a  sort  of  tribute  to  the 
memory  of  his  father,  who  had  been  one  of  the  de- 
fenders of  Fort  Moultrie  against  the  British.  The 
fact — then  proved  for  the  first  time — that  a  rifleman 
of  the  American  forests  made  a  first-rate  artillerist, 
was  one  to  be  remembered  by  the  son  of  one  who  had 
been  conspicuous  among  those  by  whom  the  fact  was 
so  well  proven ;  and  the  possession  of  a  small  British 
piece,  which  was  one  of  the  trophies  awarded  to  his 
father's  valor,  had  prompted  the  little  battery  that 
crowned  the  water  approaches  to  "  Maize-in-milk." 

But  the  signal  is  given  !  The  eager  hearts  of  the 
boys  are  bounding  violently  against  their  ribs  ;  their 
eyes  are  dilating  ;  their  heads  stretched  forward,  and 
their  whole  souls  filled  with  delicious  expectation.  The 
torch  is  applied,  and  the  roar  follows.  Then  they  rush 
forward  into  the  smoke,  Dick  leading  the  way,  and 
even  little  Ilai-ry,  convulsed  with  frenzy,  rolling  and 
30* 


354  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

tumbling  about  in  the  sulphurous  fog.  Twice,  thrice 
the  discharge  is  made,  and  then  the  signal  is  given  to 
resume  the  march.  Each  lad  unfastens  his  horse, 
Bedford  performing  the  office  for  little  Harry,  who  is 
too  proud,  however,  to  admit  of  any  help  in  clambering 
up  his  pony's  sides.  The  adventure  of  the  morning 
is  over,  and  now  back  to  the  domicil  for  breakfast, 
with  what  appetite  they  may. 

There  they  found  old  Mr.  Bond  and  pretty  Susan 
Bond,  and  other  guests,  already  arrived;  for  their 
excursion  to  the  river  had  somewhat  encroached,  in 
spite  of  all  their  efforts  at  early  rising,  upon  the 
breakfast  hour.  The  breakfast  consisted  of  all  the 
varieties  known  to  a  Carolina  plantation  of  ante-revo- 
lutionary establishment.  I  don't  know  that  it  would 
be  worth  while  to  enumerate  the  various  "  creature 
comforts"  under  which  the  table  groaned ;  and  yet 
there  may  be  some  young  persons  among  my  readers 
to  whom  a  catalogue  raisonee  may  not  be  altogether 
without  its  uses.  And  first,  then,  for  the  inevitable 
dish  of  Indian  corn,  in  its  capacity  of  vegetable  rather 
than  breadstuff — hominy !  Now,  your  yellow  corn 
won't  do  for  hominy — the  color  and  the  flavor  are 
alike  against  it.  It  must  be  the  genuine  semitrans- 
parent  flint,  ground  at  a  water-mill,  white  as  snow, 
and  swelling  out  in  two  huge  platters  at  convenient 
places  upon  the  table.  A  moderate  portion  of  each 
plate  is  provided  with  this  vegetable,  boiled  to  a  due 
consistency ;  neither  too  soft,  like  mush,  nor  too  stiff, 
hard,  and  dry  for  easy  adjustment  with  a  spoon.  It 
requires  long  experience  on  the  part  of  the  cook  to 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  355 

prepare  this  dish  for  the  just  appreciation  of  an  adept. 
There  must  be  no  rising  lump  in  the  mass  ;  there  must 
be  no  dark  speck  upon  the  surface.  The  spoon  should 
lie  upon  it  without  sinking  below  the  rims,  and  hominy 
should  always  be  eaten  with  a  spoon  or  fork  of  silver. 
I  name  all  these  little  particulars,  as  I  assume  the 
time  to  be  approaching  fast,  when  Great  Britain  and 
Ireland,  and  one-half  the  continent  of  Europe  will  be 
fed  out  of  the  American  granaries,  and  when  hominy 
will  arrive  at  its  position  of  true  dignity  and  distinc- 
tion in  the  cuisine  of  the  Old  World.  The  Carolina 
breakfast-table  would  be  a  blank  without  hominy. 

That  of  "  Maize-in-milk"  had  its  usual  bountiful 
supply  on  the  present  occasion,  and  was  not  without  its 
variety  of  breadstuff's.  There  were  loaves  and  cakes  of 
wheat,  corn,  and  rye,  all  the  growth  of  the  plantation  ; 
Colonel  Openheart  not  being  one  of  those  conceited 
wiseacres  who  rely  only  upon  the  cotton  market  and 
neglect  every  other  interest.  It  may  be  that  he  relied 
still  too  much  upon  the  profits  and  prospects  of  the 
cotton  market,  so  as  to  indulge  in  a  too  ready  habit  of 
expenditure,  but  he  never  was  that  purblind  proprietor 
who  forgets  the  farm  in  the  staple ;  a  class  of  people 
still  quite  too  large  in  Carolina  for  their  own  and  the 
good  of  the  country.  His  table  rejoiced  in  its  rice 
cakes  and  waffles  also,  among  his  breadstuffs ;  rice 
being  also  one  of  the  grains  of  his  own  production. 
But  of  these,  enough  is  said  already.  Among  the 
meats  on  table,  to  say  nothing  of  cold  corn-beef  and 
boiled  venison,  we  must  spare  a  passing  sentence  to 
the  sausages  and  black  puddings.  Christmas  on  the 


356 

southern  plantation  is  emphatically  the  sausage  season. 
Then  it  is,  as  old  Mr.  Bond  was  wont  to  say,  that 
every  negro  is  heard  to  whistle,  and  every  mouth  looks 
oily.  But  perhaps  it  is  not  every  reader  who  knows 
what  black  puddings  are.  "Well,  we  shall  not  pretend 
to  enlighten  those  who  are  unhappily  ignorant.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that  a  black  pudding  is  something  in 
the  nature  of  the  Scotch  haggis,  so  sublimely  sung  by 
Burns,  without  the  deficiencies  and  infirmities  of  that 
venerable  compound.  It  is  less  unsightly  to  the  eye, 
and  less  unfriendly  to  the  taste,  more  delicate  in  its 
flavor,  and,  perhaps,  even  more  various  in  its  ingredi- 
ents. You  shall  find  it  a  goodly  commodity,  taken 
along  with  its  kindred,  sausage  and  hominy,  at  a 
southern  breakfast,  when  the  Yule  log  is  blazing. 
Colonel  Openheart  had  just  killed  his  usual  hundred 
head  of  hogs,  and  this  was  one  of  the  great  events  to 
bring  happiness  to  the  negro  quarter.  The  great 
beef  had  also  been  slaughtered,  and  plenty  and  plea- 
sure were  conspicuous  in  every  visage.  No  wonder 
the  breakfast  went  off  swimmingly.  The  boys  were 
the  happiest  creatures  in  the  world,  and  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  great  gun  were  thrust  into  all  ears.  Not 
that  they  were  either  obtrusive  or  uproarious  in  the 
house  with  the  guests  or  at  the  table.  On  these  points, 
our  colonel,  though  very  indulgent  generally,  was 
something  of  a  martinet,  and  breakfast  was  discussed 
and  dispatched  with  a  degree  of  order  and  quietude 
which  only  was  not  solemnity  and  stiffness.  After 
breakfast  the  girls  continued  the  work  of  decoration, 
and  the  boys  went  out  to  play.  The  lady  of  the  house 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  357 

had  her  preparations  still  in  some  degree  to  make, 
and  the  worthy  colonel  took  charge  of  good  Mr.  Bond, 
and  they  went  together  to  the  farm-yard,  comparing 
notes,  and  discussing  peas,  ploughs,  and  potatoes  as  they 
went.  Soon,  however,  their  attention  was  drawn  to 
farther  arrivals.  First  came  poor  old  Kinsale,  a  worthy 
old  Irishman — a  farmer  of  small  degree,  who  had  been 
so  long  in  America  as  to  insist  that  yams  and  Spanish 
were  the  real  potatoes  of  green  Erin,  and  that  the 
Irish  potato  had  never  been  otherwise  than  sweet 
from  the  days  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  He  was  a 
good  old  man,  seventy-six  years  or  more,  for  whom 
Colonel  Openheart  sent  his  own  horses  and  carriage 
every  Christmas.  Unlike  Irishmen,  who  are  not 
generally  tenacious  of  early  customs,  he  still  wore 
small  clothes  and  long  stockings,  having  no  better 
reason  for  his  adherence  to  ancient  fashions  than  the 
possession  of  a  pair  of  legs  which  were  formed  after 
the  best  of  ancient  models.  The  youngsters  of  the 
day,  however  much  they  might  smile  at  the  tottering 
gait  and  rheumy  eyes  of  old  Kinsale,  were  not  without 
a  sufficient  degree  of  taste  to  prompt  envy  of  his 
calves.  The  red  bandana  about  his  neck,  and  the 
great  hanging  cape  and  flaps  of  his  Marseilles  vest 
were  in  odd  contrast  with  the  modern  sack,  of  newest 
pattern,  which  had  lately  beguiled  him  by  its  cheap- 
ness, its  bright  colors  and  glittering  buttons,  at  a 
Charleston  slop-shop.  The  old  fellow  was  now  all 
agog  for  the  war  with  Mexico,  and  his  first  demand 
was  for  the  last  newspapers  which  spoke  of  that  event. 
But  that  the  approaches  of  age  were  quite  too  une- 


858 

quivocal  to  suffer  such  an  absurdity,  it  might  have 
been  that  we  should  have  heard  him  talk  of  volunteer- 
ing in   the  Palmetto   Regiment.     But   he  was   still 
strong  to  totter  about  field  and  stable  ;  he  disliked 
the  house,  and  placing  his  chair  under  the  shade  of  a* 
group  of  great  oaks  that  circled  the  centre  of  the  lawn 
before  the  mansion  of  "Maize-in-milk,"  he  indicated 
to  the  other  gentleman  the  propriety  of  choosing  that 
as  the  place  for  the  reception  of  the  arriving  company. 
So  here  they  all  took  seats  together,  with  the  news- 
papers in  the  grasp  of  old  Kinsale,  and  a  variety  of 
potatoes  of  the  largest  dimensions,  yam,  Spanish,  and 
brimstone,  at  his  feet.     These,  with  a  laudable  brag  of 
Colonel  Openheart,  he  had  displayed  as  the  largest 
which  had  been  made  anywhere  that  season.     A  few 
superior  cotton-stalks  were  also  beside  them,  with  some 
mammoth  turnips  and  great  ears  of  corn.     While  they 
sat  together,  in  rolled  the  barouche  of  Captain  Whit- 
field  with  his  family,  five  or  seven  in  number,  soon 
followed  by  Squire  Whipple  and  a  Mr.  Bateman,  who 
had  just  bought  a  snug  farm  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
had  been  invited  to  share  the  Christmas  hospitalities 
of  "  Maize-in-milk."     All  these  were  farmers  of  mo- 
derate resources,  well  to  do  in  the  world  without  being 
wealthy,  a  comfortable  and  improving  people.     Colo- 
nel Openheart's  pleasure  was   to   feel  himself  in    a 
neighborhood  with  which  he  could  sympathize ;  and 
with  this  object  he  had  been  for  a  long  period  engaged 
in  the  politic  task  of  endeavoring  to  secure  the  affec- 
tions of  those  around  him.     He  made  but  little  dif- 
ference between  his  neighbors,  except   such  as  was 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  359 

called  for  by  moral  differences  among  themselves  ;  and 
if  he  thought  of  the  poverty  of  any  among  them,  it  was 
only  that  he  might  remember  the  needy  with  more 
seasonable  assistance. 

But  now  other  guests  began  to  make  their  appear- 
ance, and  as  a  stately  carriage  came  whirling  down 
the  road,  dear  Bessy  Clinton  ran  out  to  the  trees 
where  her  father  was  seated,  exclaiming — "  It's  Mary 
Butler,  papa — that's  the  carriage;"  and  the  eager 
eyes  of  the  damsel  sparkled  as  dewily  bright  as  if  the 
sunshine  which  they  showed  was  about  to  issue  from 
a  tear.  Sure  enough,  it  was  Mary  Butler — but  who 
is  it  with  her  ?  Bessy  Clinton  had  never  been  so  for- 
tunate as  to  know  Elijah  Skinflint,  Esq.,  the  lawyer 
of  Messrs.  Ingelhart  and  Cripps,  to  whom  the  tem- 
porary charge  of  Mary  Butler  had  been  confided. 
Mr.  Skinflint,  though  he  owned  a  plantation  a  few 
miles  above  that  of  Colonel  Openheart,  was  a  practis- 
ing lawyer  at  a  distant  court-house,  which  he  seldom 
left,  except  hurriedly  to  cast  an  eye  upon  the  doings 
of  his  overseer.  His  lean  and  angular  person,  red, 
searching,  ferret-like  eyes,  and  gaunt,  erect  frame 
were  quite  new  to  our  Bessy  Clinton,  who,  though 
anxious  to  embrace  Mary  Butler,  somewhat  shrunk 
from  the  idea  of  approaching  the  grim  guardian  who 
came  along  with  her.  But,  Skinflint  and  all  his  ter- 
rors were  forgotten,  when  her  father  lifted  Mary  from 
the  carriage ;  and  the  fond  damsel  bounded  to  her 
friend,  and  took  her  about  the  neck  with  as  much 
fervency  as  if  all  the  blood  from  her  heart  had  gone 
into  her  arms.  She  was  about  to  lead  the  lovely 


360  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

orphan  away,  when  the  voice  of  her  father  called  her 
back ;  and  she  suffered  a  formal  introduction  to  the 
redoubted  lawyer,  who  had  himself  suggested  the  pro- 
ceeding. Skinflint  was  evidently  struck  with  the  ap- 
pearance of  Bessy  Clinton ;  who,  for  her  age,  was  a 
tall  and  womanly-looking  creature.  I  need  not  say 
she  was  a  very  lovely  one.  Skinflint  appeared  to 
think  her  so,  and  threw  as  much  gentleness  and  anima- 
tion into  his  glance,  when  he  spoke  with  her,  as  a 
long  practice  in  a  very  different  school  permitted  him 
to  do.  He  would  have  given  her  his  arm  in  moving 
towards  the  house,  but  the  damsel,  too  anxious  to  have 
Mary  Butler  to  herself,  contrived  not  to  appear  to  see 
the  awkward  half-tender  of  civility  which  the  learned 
barrister  had  made.  In  this  way  she  got  off,  and  the 
two  girls  were  out  of  sight  in  an  instant.  The  gentle- 
men again  went  towards  their  trees,  where  they  soon 
forgot  the  other  sex  in  a  discussion  which  was  equally 
shared  between  politics  and  potatoes. 

Skinflint  was  something  of  a  politician,  but  he  met 
his  match  in  old  Kinsale.  If  the  one  was  expert  at 
weaving  the  knot  of  Gordius,  the  other  had  a  prompt 
Alexandrine  method  of  unloosing  it.  His  sturdy 
practical  mind,  and  clear  direct  judgment,  made  him 
more  than  a  match  for  the  lawyer,  who  soon  contrived 
to  get  as  far  from  him  as  possible.  In  a  little  while 
the  attention  of  all  parties  was  drawn  to  new  objects, 
which  appeared  upon  the  highway.  These  were  the 
negroes  of  the  Butler  estate,  whom  Colonel  Openheart 
had  so  rashly  purchased,  and  at  such  high  prices.  He 
had  sent  all  his  carts  and  wagons  to  bring  them  to 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  361 

their  new  abodes,  with  all  their  prog  and  furniture. 
And  a  quaint  and  merry-looking  cavalcade  they  made. 
The  carts,  four  in  number,  the  wagons,  too,  and  a  great 
ox-cart,  were  all  laden  heavily  with  baggage  and  bed- 
ding. Grinning  little  urchins  lay  on  the  top,  and  the 
able-bodied  walked  beside  the  vehicles.  Each  carried 
something  in  his  hands,  or  a  wallet  upon  his  shoulders. 
More  than  one  old  fiddle  was  to  be  seen  among  them, 
and  the  song  with  which  they  accompanied  the  crazy 
music  of  its  strings,  only  ceased  when  they  came  in 
sight  of  the  group  beneath  the  trees.  Colonel  Open- 
heart,  followed  by  his  guests,  went  out  to  the  roadside 
to  speak  to  them  as  they  passed.  He  had  a  pleasant 
word  for  each,  and  shook  hands  with  old  Enoch,  the 
patriarch  of  the  plantation,  where  the  latter  sat  in  the 
wagon  which  brought  up  the  rear.  Bedford  appro- 
priately made  his  appearance  at  this  moment,  and 
took  charge  of  the  cavalcade,  which  he  conducted  to 
the  quarters  prepared  for  them.  Affectionate  memo- 
ries of  his  friend,  Ben  Butler,  caused  the  eyes  of 
Colonel  Openheart  to  grow  dim  as  he  shook  hands 
with  the  aged  negroes ;  but  a  very  different  sentiment 
was  in  those  of  Lawyer  Skinflint.  Be  sure,  that  excel- 
lent citizen  had  thoughts  in  his  mind,  as  he  beheld 
the  scene,  which  he  would  never  have  ventured  to 
declare  in  any  of  his  pleadings.  But  the  worthy 
colonel  neither  saw  nor  suspected  anything,  and  his 
deportment  to  Skinflint,  whom  he  did  not  love,  was 
quite  as  courteous  and  kind  as  to  any  other  of  his 
guests.  For  that  matter,  as  the  day  advanced,  Skin- 
flint began  to  grow  in  favor.  He  evidently  took  some 
31 


362 

pains  to  make  himself  agreeable.  He  was  a  man  of 
considerable  experience  and  information;  had  tra- 
velled, was  well  read,  and  not  entirely  wanting  in  those 
finer  tastes  which  so  happily  garnish  even  the  conver- 
sation of  the  merely  .sensible.  He  could  be  sportive 
when  he  would ;  and  a  vein  of  dry  humor,  which  at 
the  bar  was  causticity,  seasoned  his  most  ordinary 
conversation.  He  was  habitually  a  hard  man — cold, 
ascetic ;  sarcastic,  selfish ;  with  but  little  sympathy 
for  humanity  in  its  susceptibilities,  and  in  those  pliant 
movements  of  the  heart  and  fancy,  which  the  world- 
ling is  apt  to  regard  as  weaknesses.  But  he  knew  how 
to  humor  the  moods  of  others ;  and,  with  "an  object  in 
view,  he  could  play  the  pleasant  companion  for  an 
hour,  or  a  day — nay,  quite  as  long  as  he  had  anything 
to  gain  by  it.  And  he  had  something  to  gain  at 
"  Maize-in-milk ;"  at  least,  we  already  half  suspect 
the  grim  bachelor  of  being  more  than  pleased  with  the 
graces  and  charms  of  dear  Bessy  Clinton.  "VVe  don't 
know  that  any  eye  but  ours  beheld  him,  as,  frequently, 
in  the  progress  of  the  day,  his  glance  was  fixed  on 
the  fair  face  and  beautifully  rounded  form  of  the 
maiden,  with  a  positive  show  of  interest  and  pleasure. 
The  insolent !  He  to  presume  on  the  affections  of 
that  sweet  creature — that  incarnation  of  all  that  is 
delicate  and  dear  in  humanity  and  woman ! 

But  the  day  passes — 0 !  most  pleasantly  to  all ; 
and  the  young  increase  in  numbers  as  the  hours  melt 
into  the  past ;  and  the  brightness  grows  in  every  eye 
as,  sporting  on  the  lawn,  they  seem  to  hurry  the  foot- 
steps of  the  sun.  And  he  sets  at  last !  Then  emerg- 


;V 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  3G3 

ing  from  an  ancient  closet,  our  host  brings  forth  the 
rude  charred  fragments  of  a  half-burned  log.  It  is 
the  Yule  log  of  the  last  year.  The  hall  chimney  is 
carefully  denuded  of  all  its  fires — the  sticks  are  taken 
out,  the  hearth  is  swept.  The  great  back-log,  chosen 
for  the  fire  of  the  new  year,  is  brought  in,  and  the 
fragments  of  last  year's  log  are  employed  to  kindle 
it.  Our  colonel  delighted  to  continue,  as  nearly  as 
he  could  with  propriety,  the  customs  of  his  English 
ancestors ;  and  his  own  shoulders  bore  the  log  from 
the  woodpile,  and  his  own  hands  lighted  the  brands 
of  the  new  year's  fire  as  the  sun  went  down.  Doubt- 
less, there  is  some  superstition  in  all  this ;  but  such 
superstitions  are  not  without  their  charm,  and  have 
their  advantages.  The  superstitions  which  tend  in 
some  degree  to  make  us  forgetful  of  self,  are  equally 
serviceable  to  humanity  and  religion. 

The  tea-things  are  removed ;  the  night  advances, 
the  sable  fiddler  has  made  his  appearance ;  and,  seat- 
ed in  the  piazza,  attended  by  an  urchin  with  a  rude 
tambourine,  he  brings  forth  sounds  which  have  a 
strange  effect  upon  youthful  feet  and  fancies.  The 
dance  begins,  and,  for  two  hours,  the  girls  and  boys  foot 
it  merrily  in  the  great  hall.  Then  a  few  steal  away  to 
another  apartment,  and  there  the  eggs  are  broken. 
One  seizes  upon  the  bowl,  another  upon  the  dish,  and 
they  proceed  to  manufacture  a  noggin  of  eggs;  that 
luscious  draught  not  to  be  foregone,  styled,  in  homely 
parlance,  eggnog  !  not  an  inebriating  beverage  in  that 
temperate  household.  The  dance  ceases  ;  the  draught 
is  enjoyed;  the  more  youthful  disappear,  and  the 


364  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

sweet  voice  of  Bessy  Clinton,  as  she  sings  another  of 
her  ancient  Christmas  carols,  is  the  signal  for  the 
separation  of  the  company  that  night  at  the  mansion 
of  "  Maize-in-milk."  Yerily,  Lawyer  Skinflint  never 
in  his  life  before  appeared  so  devotedly  fond  of  music. 
He  hung  upon  the  tones  of  the  sweet  songstress  as  if 
she  were  especially  the  sweet  singer  in  Israel,  while 
she  poured  forth,  at  her  father's  summons,  the  old 
"  Carol  for  Christmas  Eve." 

Where,  among  the  pasturing  rocks, 
The  glad  shepherds  kept  their  flocks, 
Came  an  angel  to  the  fold, 
And,  with  voice  of  rapture,  told, 

That  the  Saviour,  Christ,  was  born ! 

Born  in  Bethlehem,  sacred  place, 
Of  a  virgin  full  of  grace ; 
In  a  manger,  lowly  spot, 
Symbol  of  his  mortal  lot, 

Lo !  the  Saviour,  Christ,  is  born ! 

Dread  and  glorious  was  the  bright 
Of  that  sudden,  shining  light, 
Which,  around  the  angel  then, 
Tokened  to  the  simple  men, 

That  the  Saviour,  Christ,  was  born ! 

But  the  voice  that  filled  the  blaze, 
Cheered  them  in  their  deep  amaze; — 
"Tidings  of  great  joy  I  bring," 
In  the  coming  of  your  King  : 

The  true  Shepherd,  Christ,  is  born. 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  305 


CHAPTER    III. 

AND  never  did  a  Christmas  morning  dawn  more 
cheerily  on  human  eyes  than  did  this,  so  much  looked 
for  at  "  Maize-in-milk,"  in  St.  Matthews.  The  har- 
mony of  heart  within,  seemed  to  lend  its  aspect  to 
the  outer  world ;  and  though  at  sunrise  a  heavy  white 
frost  lay  upon  the  fields  and  woods,  yet  the  day  was 
sweetly  mild  and  the  atmosphere  vigorous  and  brac- 
ing. The  song-birds  are  seldom  forest-birds.  They 
fly  to  the  shelter  and  countenance  of  man,  from  the 
deep  thickets  where  the  hostile  vermin  keep  shelter. 
Perhaps  there  is  an  intellectual  consciousness  which 
they  feel,  that  the  human  is  the  most  justly  apprecia- 
tive audience.  So  the  smaller  birds  of  game  harbor 
only  in  the  neighborhood  of  fields  which  are  cultivated 
by  man,  not  for  the  reason  assigned  by  M.  Chateau- 
briand, but  simply  because  these  furnish  most  readily 
the  food  which  they  desire ;  and  because  here,  also, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  human  habitations,  they  are 
less  likely  to  fall  victims  to  the  prowling  owl  and  fox, 
or  the  vigilant  hawk.  Now  the  proprietors  of  " Maize- 
in-milk"  had,  frwn  time  immemorial,  been  disposed  to 
acknowledge  the  confidence  which  the  feathered  tribes 
thus  tacitly  seemed  to  repose  in  their  forbearance ; 
and,  in  the  immediate  proximity  of  the  homestead, 
no  hostile  gun  was  permitted  to  ruffle  a  bird's  feathers. 
The  song-birds  laughed  merrily  at  noontide  and  morn- 
ing in  the  roof-tree,  and  had  no  apprehension  ;  and 
31* 


366  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

the  partridge  led  her  young  along  the  roadside,  skirt- 
ing the  hedge  of  box  and  myrtle,  having  no  fear  of 
being  thought  a  trespasser.  Our  Christmas  morning 
on  the  present  occasion,  was  particularly  distinguished 
by  these  free  forest  visitors,  who  came  about  the 
habitation,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  guests,  as  if 
they  not  only  were  disposed  to  assert  their  privileges, 
but  as  if  they  knew  that  the  season  was  one  for  Sunday 
clothes  and  merry-making.  When  poor  old  Kinsale 
rose,  therefore,  some  time  before  the  sun,  and  before 
any  other  of  the  household — for  old  age  requires  fewer 
hours  for  sleep  than  youth — very  sweet  and  pleasant 
was  the  sight  that  greeted  his  aged  eyes.  Sitting  in 
the  great  massive  porch  of  the  building,  which  faced 
the  south,  a  wide  lawn  spread  out  before  him  covered 
with  green  trees.  These  were  of  the  various  sorts  of 
oak  and  orange,  with  a  sprinkling  of  laurel  and  other 
trees,  most  of  which  were  aged  like  himself,  but  show- 
ing far  greater  proofs  of  vigor.  Their  heavy  tops 
were  populous  cities  of  song-birds.  Here  the  red- 
bird  flourished,  with  his  crimson  tufts,  satisfied  with 
his  glorious  plumage  and  his  brief  but  complacent 
note.  Here  was  the  imperial  mock-bird,  one  of  which, 
well  known  to  the  household,  and  fed  with  crumbs  by 
the  children — old  Puck — very  soon  discerned  a  stran- 
ger in  the  portico,  and  was  sending  forth  a  short 
sharp  and  querulous  inquiry,  which  might  be  trans- 
lated, "  and  who  are  you,  my  good  fellow  ?  and  what  do 
you  want  ?"  But  though  pleased  with  the  familiarity 
of  the  bird — for  if  there  be  anything  which  age  most 
loves,  it  is  society — old  Kinsale  was  not  the  person  to 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  367 

invite  them  by  his  presence.  The  summer  of  child- 
hood is  always  most  effectual,  and,  failing  to  conciliate 
the  suspicions  of  old  Puck,  who  hopped  off  at  his  call 
to  one  of  his  remotest  twigs — the  old  man  turned  his 
attention  upon  the  great  trees  of  the  park,  and  finally 
beyond  them,  to  the  open  fields.  It  was  the  policy 
of  the  proprietor  of  "  Maize-in-milk"  to  maintain 
about  his  household  as  much  of  the  aspect  of  spring 
and  freshness  as  he  could.  His  fields  on  the  right 
were  accordingly  covered  with  a  vigorous  growth  of 
wheat,  which,  in  his  hands,  was  a  crop  of  respectable 
production  for  Carolina.  While  his  less  considerate 
neighbors  were  satisfied  to  get  but  eight  bushels  of 
this  luxuriant  grain  from  the  average  acre,  he,  by 
skilful  dressing,  and  the  free  use  of  lime,  contrived 
to  extract  nearly  thrice  that  quantity.  On  the  oppo- 
site side  was  to  be  seen  a  broad  tract  of  rye,  green 
and  growing,  while  beyond,  on  every  hand,  spread  a 
wall  of  thickly  wooded  copse  and  forest,  by  which 
each  of  his  fields  was  girdled,  and  through  which  lay 
pleasant  walks  and  openings  to  the  corn  and  cotton 
fields  still  farther  distant.  The  settlements  at  "Maize- 
in-milk,"  standing  upon  a  hill,  gave  a  very  extensive 
view  on  every  side.  Looking  from  the  rear  of  the 
dwelling,  the  eye  might  discern,  a  few  miles  off,  the 
great  gray  tops  of  the  cypress  that  looked  forth  from 
the  dark  recesses  of  the  swamp.  For  these  objects  old 
Kinsale  had  an  eye.  They  had  harbored  the  aged  man 
in  the  Revolution  from  some  of  his  Tory  neighbors. 
But  he  was  not  suffered  long  to  indulge  in  his  soli- 
tary survey.  Soon  the  children  came  skipping  forth, 


368  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry,  each  clamoring  with  new  dis- 
coveries. Santa  Glaus  visits  us  in  the  South,  too,  but 
under  no  such  Dutch  appellation.  We  do  not  con- 
found the  day  of  St.  Nicholas  with  that  of  Christmas, 
though  we  distinguish  them,  in  the  old  houses,  by  simi- 
lar customs,  borrowed,  however,  from  our  English  an- 
cestry. With  us,  the  good  genius  of  the  nativity,  in 
a  merely  social  point  of  view,  is  good  old  Father  Christ- 
mas himself.  The  benevolent  old  graybeard  makes 
his  presents  to  the  children,  under  this  more  seemly 
appellation.  And  the  urchins  are  very  well  accustom- 
ed to  look  for  his  coming.  They  hang  their  stockings 
in  the  chimney-place,  each  with  a  sprig  of  ivy,  or  cas- 
sina,  or  holly,  or  sumach,  either  or  all,  in  tribute  to 
the  venerable  visitor.  These  he  withdraws,  and  leaves 
in  place  of  them  such  gifts  as  he  deems  best  suited  to 
the  character  and  the  deserts  of  his  protege.  To 
some  of  these  a  bunch  of  hickories  conveys  a  rebuke 
and  threat,  which  by  no  means  makes  the  coming  of 
Father  Christmas  a  merry  one. 

Our  lads  and  lasses  at  "  Maize-in-milk"  had  done 
their  best  to  merit,  or,  at  all  events,  to  receive  the 
bounties  of  the  ancient  patron.  Tom  had  hung  his 
new  boots,  the  first  pair  that  had  ever  embraced  his 
ankles,  upon  sticks  pendent  over  the  fender.  Dick, 
more  ambitious  of  favor,  had  occupied  a  chair  front- 
ing the  fireplace,  with  one  or  more  suits  of  clothes, 
hat  and  shoes  included,  from  each  of  which,  capable 
of  holding  them,  might  be  seen  the  protruding  green 
and  red  of  the  sumach  and  the  holly.  Harry,  without 
pockets  to  his  breeches,  had  put  his  cap,  shoes,  and 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  369 

stockings.  The  girls  had  also  made  provision  for 
their  guest.  The  tiny  stockings  of  dear  little  Rose 
were  placed  conspicuously  not  to  escape  attention, 
while  Mary  Butler,  Susan  Bond,  and  Bessy  Clinton, 
had  set  their  nice  white  baskets,  beautifully  dressed 
with  flowers  mingled  with  holly,  on  different  sides  of 
the  fireplace  in  their  chamber. 

And  now  came  forth  the  boys,  each  bounding  tu- 
multuously  with  his  treasure,  which  had  come  with 
the  dawn  of  Christmas.  They  had  all  slept  with  an 
eye  open,  eager  to  see  what  sort  of  visage  the  old  man 
would  put  on.  Dick  swears  he  saw  him;  a  big  man, 
in  a  sort  of  white  overall,  or  shirt,  with  a  great  basket 
on  his  arm,  a  great  pair  of  horns  on  his  head,  and  a 
long  beard,  like  moss,  hanging  to  his  knees.  Tom 
thinks  he  saw  him ;  but  is  of  opinion  that  he  had  on 
petticoats,  and  looked  something  like  his  mamma ; 
while  little  Harry  slept  through  it  all.  As  for  the 
girls,  we  can  only  say  that,  when  asked  what  they  saw, 
Bessy  Clinton  and  Mary  Butler  smiled  knowingly, 
but  said  nothing  ;  while  dear  little  Hose  insists  that 
Father  Christmas  was  a  big  lady  like  her  own  mamma. 

But  for  their  gifts  !  Old  Kinsale  had  the  first 
sight  of  these.  The  treasures  of  each  were  spread 
before  him,  and  he  was  called  upon  to  decide  on  their 
value.  Tom  emptied  his  boots  to  display  a  pair  of 
spurs,  a  buck-handled  knife,  and  a  very  pretty  flageolet, 
with  all  of  which  he  seemed  very  well  contented. 
Dick  held  himself  quite  as  lucky  with  one  small  quali- 
fication. His  trophies  were,  a  knife  also,  but  smaller 
than  that  of  Tom's,  a  bag  of  marbles,  an  India-rubber 


370  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

ball,  a  bilboJcetch,  or  cup  and  ball,  a  joint-snake,  and 
a  bunch  of  hickory  switches.  There  was  something 
in  every  pocket  or  receptacle  among  his  clothes,  from 
which  the  holly  sprig  had  been  taken.  Little  Harry 
was  quite  satisfied  with  certain  toys  that  leapt  like 
frogs,  barked  like  dogs,  or  rolled  and  grunted  like 
hogs.  He  was  also  indulged  in  a  tipsy  Turk,  with 
his  chibouque,  manufactured  in  papier  mache.  The 
gifts  of  Father  Christmas  to  the  girls  were  in  less 
doubtful  taste.  Dear  little  Rose  had  her  toys,  it  is 
true ;  but  Bessy  Clinton  found  in  her  basket  a  beauti- 
fully bound  copy  of  the  common-prayer,  and  a  fine 
ladies'  gold  watch.  A  single  sentence  written  in  an- 
tique characters,  evidently  by  King  Christmasse  him- 
self, warned  her  to  use  the  first  gift  properly  that 
she  might  not  lose  the  value  of  the  second.  Mary 
Butler  had  a  ring  with  the  initials  of  Bessy  Clinton. 
Susan  Bond  was  not  forgotten.  Her  tribute  of  holly 
disappeared,  and  a  very  pretty  musical-box,  with  a 
handsome  set  of  chess-men,  and  a  beautiful  copy  of 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  remained  in  place  of  it.  The  an- 
cient sire  had  chosen  judiciously.  He  knew  the  tastes 
of  all  parties,  and  their  deserts  too.  They  were  all 
satisfied  equally  with  his  liberality  and  justice  ;  and, 
in  their  satisfaction  with  their  treasures,  the  great  gun 
was  almost  forgotten.  Its  sharp  and  loud  report 
routed  the  rest  of  the  sleeping  household,  and  each 
urchin,  lying  in  wait,  made  the  house  ring  again,  as 
the  several  members  came  forth,  with  "Merry  Christ- 
mas, papa !  Merry  Christmas,  mamma  !"  "I've 
caught  you — I've  caught  you  !"  And  this  led  to  a 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  371 

new  distribution  of  gifts.  Father  Christmas  had  done 
his  duty,  but  the  ordinary  sire  of  the  household  must 
do  his — and  the  mother,  and  the  sister,  and  all ; — 
and  the  custom  did  not  confine  these  claims  to  the 
children,  but  extended  to  the  house-servants,  none  of 
whom  forgot  that  the  advent  of  Father  Christmasse, 
gave  them  claims  upon  massa  and  missis,  which  were 
to  be  urged  early  in  the  morning,  with  vociferous 
cries,  as  soon  as  they  should  show  their  faces. 

Before  this  rout  had  well  subsided,  the  girls,  Bessy 
Clinton,  Mary  Butler,  and  Susan  Bond,  were  busy  at 
another  and  equally  essential  part  of  the  ceremonies 
of  the  season.  Each  had  a  pile  of  eggs  before  her, 
and  there  were  huge  bowls  and  dishes  spread  out,  and 
great  vessels  of  sugar  and  a  decanter  of  wine ;  and 
the  eggs  were  broken,  the  whites  emptied  into  the 
dish,  the  yolks  into  the  bowl,  and  Susan  Bond,  seizing 
upon  the  bowl,  began  to  beat  away  with  a  spoon  like 
mad,  stirring  in  every  now  and  then  a  modicum  of 
sugar  with  the  yolks,  till  they  lost  their  golden  hue 
and  put  on  one  more  silvery  and  less  rich.  At  the 
same  time,  our  Bessy  Clinton,  even  more  busy,  and  at 
the  more  laborious  process,  was  beating  the  white  and 
mucilaginous  portions  of  the  egg  into  a  thick  foam  of 
such  final  consistency  that  she  could  turn  the  vessel 
upside  down  without  losing  a  drop  of  the  commodity. 
This  was  the  standard  point,  which,  once  attained,  the 
yolk  and  white  were  again  to  be  united,  the  wine  was 
to  embrace  the  two  in  its  ardent  grasp,  and  the  whole 
was  then  fit  for  the  palate  of  Father  Christmasse 
himself,  the  King  of  the  Feast.  This  is  eggnog— 


372  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

a  noggin  of  which  is  the  necessary  preface  to  a  Christ- 
mas breakfast,  after  the  old  fashion  in  Carolina.  This 
discussed,  and  breakfast  followed,  ample  and  various 
as  the  preceding  day;  and  then  all  parties  sallied 
forth,  in  several  groups,  to  ride,  to  ramble,  and  to 
hunt.  Two  or  three  of  the  young  men,  taking  Tom 
Openheart  along  with  them,  and  calling  up  the  hounds, 
set  off  to  chase  the  deer.  Numerous  drives  on  the 
ample  estate  of  "  Maize-in-milk"  promised  abundant 
sport.  We  shall  not  follow  the  hunters,  but  content 
ourselves  with  saying  that  their  efforts  were  rewarded 
with  a  fine  fat  doe  and  a  monstrous  wild-cat,  four  feet 
from  snout  to  tail,  inclusive,  that  made  famous  play 
with  hounds  and  hunters,  and  was  only  caught  after 
three  hours'  running  and  doubling,  and  a  most  terrific 
fight. 

Meanwhile,  breakfast  scarcely  over  at  "  Maize-in- 
milk,"  a  new  collection  of  shining  faces  appeared  about 
the  porch  of  the  dwelling,  in  waiting  for  the  appear- 
ance of  "old  maussa"  without.  These  were  the  field 
negroes,  under  the  lead  of  ancient  Enoch,  including 
those  not  only  of  the  plantation  proper,  but  those  also 
who  had  just  been  bought  of  the  Butler  estate.  The 
household  servants,  as  we  have  already  hinted,  had 
made  sure  of  their  "  Christmas"  as  soon  as  the  family 
budged  out  of  their  several  chambers.  And  such  a 
chorus  of  cries  and  salutations  !  Such  a  happy  variety 
of  voices  in  the  same  monotonous  chant  of  "Merrie 
Chrystmasse."  There  were  voices  of  lame,  halt,  and 
blind ;  beginning  with  old  Dolly,  a  white-headed  matron 
of  ninety-three,  whose  memory  was  a  complete  chronicle 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  373 

of  the  revolutionary  warfare.  Blind  and  deaf,  she  sat 
between  her  great-great-grandchildren,  on  the  steps  of 
the  porch,  and  shook  her  palsied  head,  with  a  feeble 
chirrup,  which  was  drowned  in  the  more  vigorous 
burden  of  a  hundred  more,  whose  lungs  deferred  but 
little  to  her  weight  of  years.  And  there  was  Binah, 
the  mute ;  and  Tony,  the  one-armed ;  and  Polly,  the 
half-witted ;  and  Diana,  the  rheumatic,  and  a  dozen 
more  of  both  sexes,  whom  the  master  only  knew  as 
dependents  for  whom  he  had  to  provide,  and  who  were 
of  more  trouble  and  expense  to  him  than  thrice  their 
number  of  the  rest.  But  of  this  our  excellent  pro- 
prietor did  not  complain.  Indeed,  these  poor  crea- 
tures were  particular  objects  of  his  attention.  He  was 
content  to  take  the  evil  with  the  good ;  and  he  re- 
garded these  old  heirlooms  as  so  many  subjects  of 
his  father,  who,  having  served  their  time  faithfully, 
deserved  to  be  protected  and  provided  for  during  the 
future,  in  consideration  of  the  past.  There  was  no 
discharging  the  operative  the  moment  he  ceased  to  be 
useful. 

And  such  a  clamor  as  was  raised,  as  our  Colonel 
Openheart  came  forth  at  the  head  of  his  guests,  as 
if  his  benevolence  was  now  to  be  assailed  by  storm. 
The  jaws  of  eighty  or  more  were  instantly  unclosed 
upon  him;  and  " God  bless  you,  maussa," — "Merry 
Christmas,  old  maussa," — "How  all  is,  dis  merrie 
Christmas," — "Hoping you  live  tousand  merry  Christ- 
mas more," — "And  all  de  Chilians  ;"  these  were  some 
few  of  the  burdens  of  their  common  song.  Some  had 
it  in  rhyme,  borrowed  probably  from  the  school-boys: — 
32 


374  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

"  Christmas  come  but  once  de  year, 
Da's  wha'  mak'  we  come  up  yer  (here)." 

Or, 

"  Enty  dis  da  Christmas  come  ? 
Yer's  de  nigger  look  for  some !" 

Or, 

"  Merrie  Christmas,  maussa,  for  true, 
You'  ole  niggers  pray  for  you ;" 

And,  from  another  voice,  as  if  by  way  of  chorus, 

"  Gee  'urn  only  you  good  cheer, 
An'  you'll  hab  de  happy  New  Year." 

For  this  scene  our  excellent  proprietor  had  been 
accustomed  to  prepare.  In  this  respect  he  followed 
the  example  of  his  ancestor,  and,  indeed,  of  most  of 
the  very  old  native  proprietors.  A  sort  of  peddler's 
variety  was  produced  from  a  huge  case,  which  had 
been  brought  up  from  the  city  a  few  days  before.  To 
some  were  given  knives  and  scissors,  caps,  shawls,  and 
handkerchiefs.  Others  had  hatchets,  razors,  tobacco, 
and  cases  of  pins  and  needles.  Some  chose  cotton  or 
wool  cards — for  most  of  the  negro  women  of  character 
on  a  plantation,  carry  on  some  little  domestic  manu- 
factures of  their  own ;  and  others  were  quite  content 
with  queer  clumsy  toys,  and  great  grinning  masks, 
with  which  they  could  amuse  or  frighten  the  more 
simple  of  their  own  or  of  neighboring  plantations. 
Money  is  seldom  given,  never  by  a  judicious  proprietor, 
as  it  is  sure  to  be  spent  perniciously  at  some  neigh- 
boring groggery. 

This  distribution  of  Christmas  presents  occupied  an 
hour  or  more.  In  some  instances,  but  not  often,  and 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  375 

only  when  Col.  Openheart  could  trust  the  good  sense 
of  the  recipient,  he  was  permitted  to  choose  his  article 
for  himself.  They  all  withdrew,  more  or  less  satisfied 
— their  greasy,  grinning  faces  doing  ample  justice, 
by  their  expression,  to  the  bounty  of  the  master,  and 
the  fulness  of  the  hog-meat  upon  which  they  had  been 
feasting  for  a  week  past. 

Lawyer  Skinflint  was  not  satisfied  with  the  spectacle 
he  witnessed.  He  thought  it  a  mode  of  spoiling  them. 
They  would  always  expect  such  favors.  It  invited 
familiarity.  It  would  provoke  jealousy  among  them- 
selves. It  would  be  productive  of  many  other  mis- 
chiefs which  we  shall  not  mention.  To  all  these  Col. 
Openheart  opposed  evasive  answers  only.  It  was  not 
the  season  for  discussion ;  nor  was  he,  in  his  old  age, 
to  discuss  or  doubt  the  propriety  of  a  practice  which 
his  grandfather  and  father  had  pursued  before  him 
without  being  thought  worse  persons  than  their  neigh- 
bors. The  excellent  lawyer  only  ceased  his  pleadings 
with  the  appearance  of  the  ladies  in  the  portico,  when 
he  addressed  himself  with  a  benignant  smile  to  Mrs. 
Openheart,  and,  after  a  few  studied  phrases  about 
the  day,  turned  to  play  the  gallant  with  lovely  Bessy 
Clinton ;  a  new  role,  which  seemed  by  no  means  native. 

The  horses  were  now  in  readiness,  the  carriage  and 
barouche.  All  parties  were  preparing  to  go  forth. 
Col.  Whitfield,  with  his  wonted  promptness,  offered 
his  services  to  Mrs.  Openheart  and  Mrs.  Whipple,  for 
a  drive  ;  while  Misses  Whipple  and  Jones,  failing  to 
persuade  Bessy  Clinton,  Mary  Butler,  and  Susan  Bond 
from  the  saddle  to  the  barouche,  very  civilly  offered 


376  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

to  take  up  good  old  father  Kinsale.  Having  ascer- 
tained how  Bessy  Clinton  went,  the  lawyer  determined 
to  engage  also  in  equestrianship,  though  really  in- 
clining, by  reason  of  his  peculiar  physique,  to  the 
cushions ;  and  he,  Col.  Openheart,  Mr.  Bond,  and  the 
two  boys,  became  the  companions  of  the  three  girls, 
and  were  soon  mounted  upon  the  liveliest  and  pleas- 
antest  pacers  in  the  whole  parish.  It  was  a  day  for 
horseback,  and  the  "  righte  merrie"  cavalcade  dashed 
at  once  up  the  highway  for  a  mile ;  then,  turning 
aside,  proceeded  to  pay  an  annual  visit,  in  especial,  to 
the  old  fort,  overlooking  the  river,  remarkable  for  its 
local  traditions  ;  where  you  may  yet  see  the  proofs  of 
the  devil's  presence,  in  one  of  his  ancient  frolics,  in 
the  tracks  of  his  tail  and  carriage  wheels — a  legend 
which,  at  some  future  and  convenient  season,  we  shall 
have  to  put  in  print.  The  description  of  the  scenery 
along  the  route  taken  by  our  party  we  must  reserve 
for  the  same  occasion.  Enough  to  say  of  it  that  it 
harmonized  admirably  with  the  bracing  air,  the  calm, 
generous  sunshine,  and  the  rapid  but  easy  motion  of 
the  horses.  All  parties  were  delighted — eyes  were 
in  a  glow,  cheeks  were  brightly  flushed,  and  even  our 
lawyer,  who  kept  his  horse  neck-and-neck,  like  a 
young  gallant,  with  that  of  Bessy  Clinton,  talked  of 
nothing  but  purling  brooks,  green  leaves,  and  love  in 
a  cottage,  the  whole  way.  The  sweet,  gentle-hearted 
girl  heard  him  with  respectful  kindness,  and  answered 
without  hesitation  or  reserve.  She  had  no  suspicions 
of  his  gallantry,  to  put  her  on  her  reserves  ;  and  all 
things  might  have  gone,  with  him,  "  as  merry  as  a 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  377 

marriage  bell,"  but  for  a  slight  incident  which  hap- 
pened on  the  route. 

Dashing  suddenly  into  the  main  road,  on  their  way- 
back  to  "  Maize-in-milk,"  they  came  unexpectedly 
upon  another  party,  the  sight  of  which  kindled  the 
eyes  equally  of  Col.  Openheart  and  Bessy  Clinton. 
"  Why,  Bessy,"  said  the  colonel,  "that  is  Mrs.  Berk- 
shire's carriage,  surely.  What  brings  her  from  the 
city  ?"  The  words  were  scarcely  spoken,  when  the 
head  of  a  young  man  was  thrust  forth  from  the  car- 
riage, which  was  in  front,  and  suggested  a  new  con- 
clusion to  our  worthy  proprietor  of  "  Maize-in-milk. " 
"  It  is  she,  and  that  is  her  son,  Fergus,  just  from  col- 
lege;" and,  with  the  words,  giving  his  horse  the 
spur,  our  colonel  dashed  ahead,  and  was  soon  along- 
side of  the  vehicle  and  the  persons  in  question.  In 
another  moment  the  carriage  was  stopped,  Colonel 
Openheart  alighted,  and,  changing  places  with  young 
Berkshire,  the  latter  soon  joined  the  young  ladies  by 
whom  the  rear  was  brought  up.  A  handsome,  tall, 
high-spirited  young  fellow  was  Fergus  Berkshire.  He 
spoke  to  Bessy  Clinton  as  to  an  old  acquaintance,  and 
our  lawyer  watched,  with  some  uneasiness,  the  sudden 
flush  upon  the  cheek  of  the  damsel  as  she  hailed  the 
youth's  approach.  He  soon  explained  the  motive  of 
the  sudden  appearance  of  himself  and  mother. 

"The  old  mansion-house  and  estate  were  in  bad 
condition,  and  something  was  to  be  done  with  it  before 
he  went  to  Europe.  Of  course,"  he  added,  "  it  is  our 
purpose,  now,  to  spend  our  Christmas  at  *  Maize-in- 
milk.'" 

32* 


378  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

Bessy  heard  and  answered  him  with  undisguised 
pleasure. 

"You  know,  Fergus,"  she  answered,  "you  are  al- 
ways at  home  with  us." 

"We  took  that  for  granted,"  said  the  youth,  "though 
I  almost  feared  that  a  three  years'  absence  had  caused 
you  to  forget  us  all." 

"  And  you  go  soon  again  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  Yes  ;  mother  is  anxious  to  comply  with  the  earnest 
wishes  of  my  poor  father,  whose  instructions  were, 
that,  after  leaving  college,  I  was  to  pass  two  years  in 
foreign  travel.  We  shall  spend  a  couple  of  weeks 
here,  with  your  permission,  get  our  new  overseer  fairly 
under  weigh,  then  proceed  to  the  city  and  to  New 
York,  so  that  our  preparations  may  be  complete  for 
sailing  in  the  May  packet." 

He  was  silent,  and  so  was  Bessy  Clinton.  A  certain 
gravity  which  was  unusual  overspread  her  face.  We 
will  not  trouble  ourselves  just  now  to  ask  wherefore  this 
was  so.  Let  it  suffice  that,  from  whatever  source  her 
emotion  may  have  sprung,  it  did  not  make  her  forget- 
ful of  the  courtesies  ;  and  the  introduction  of  the  new- 
comer to  the  rest  of  the  company  took  place  selon  les 
regies.  Our  lawyer's  share  in  this  proceeding  was 
conducted  with  sufficient  stiffness  ;  but  it  escaped  the 
notice  of  all  parties,  except  possibly  young  Berkshire 
himself;  who,  by  the  way,  did  not  seem  greatly  to 
consider  the  presence  of  our  excellent  Skinflint.  He 
soon  contrived  to  get  himself  close  beside  our  heroine, 
and  on  her  bridle-hand,  and  they  jogged  along 
together  rather  too  slowly,  it  would  seem,  for  the  at- 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  379 

torney,  whose  steed  had  suddenly  become  possessed  of 
the  idea  of  going  forward  with  all  possible  rapidity. 
An  hour  brought  all  parties  home  safely  to  "Maize- 
in-milk,"  and  after  the  interchange  of  the  usual  cour- 
tesies with  the  newly  arrived,  the  company  was  left 
to  dispose  of  itself  as  the  several  members  pleased, 
until  dinner  time.  "We  will  but  remark  that  Berkshire 
was  the  first  person  to  emerge  after  making  his  toilet, 
and  sweet  Bessy  Clinton  was  the  first  to  find  him  in 
the  parlor.  The  person  who  next  entered  to  them 
was  Skinflint,  who  listened  demurely  to  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  young  people,  without  taking  part  in  it, 
wondering  to  himself,  all  the  while,  what  in  the  name 
of  common  sense  people  could  find  to  please  their 
minds  in  the  prattle  about  their  days  of  childhood. 
Fergus  Berkshire  and  Bessy  Clinton  made  much  more 
of  the  theme  than  sour  old  Skinflint  had  ever  made  of 
his  childhood.  He,  unhappily  for  himself,  had  never 
known  the  period.  He  was  born  a  man — hard,  wiry, 
inflexible,  calculating,  selfish — with  his  coat  buttoned 
up  to  his  chin,  and  his  hard  intellect  busy  from  the 
first  in  stifling  all  his  natural  affections. 

Old  Colonel  Openheart  was  one  of  those  to  whom 
the  every-day  world  would  give  the  title,  sneeringly, 
of  a  man  of  affectations.  He  was  certainly  no  hum- 
drum personage.  His  Christmas  dinner,  for  example, 
was  not  a  good  dinner  merely.  It  was  a  Christmas 
dinner.  He  did  not  summon  his  guests  to  eat, 
simply,  and  to  drink.  The  mere  swill  was  not  his 
object.  The  intellectual  tastes  were  to  be  consulted, 
the  fancies,  the  very  superstitions,  which,  in  the  pro- 


380  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

gress  of  the  ages  would  naturally  accumulate  about 
the  practices  of  a  people  on  peculiar  occasions.  His 
Christmas  was  a  season  of  equal  thanksgiving  and 
enjoyment.  There  was  to  be  a  natural  ebullition  of  the 
feelings  at  such  a  time.  There  should  be  exultation. 
High  and  humble  should  equally  show  gratitude  ;  and 
the  natural  expression  of  gratitude  is  good-humor  and 
cheerfulness.  The  high  was  to  be  high  only  in  the 
exercise  of  an  ability  to  make  the  lowly  glad  and 
happy ;  the  humble  was  to  exult  in  gratifications  which 
showed  them  consciously  in  possession  of  bounties 
bestowed,  in  the  first  instance,  by  the  Lord  of  all,  and 
intermediately  by  those  whose  only  boast  was  in 
being  able  in  some  degree  to  follow  his  example  in  its 
bounties  and  its  sympathies.  Colonel  Openheart 
strove  for  these  objects..  We  have  glimpsed  at  some 
of  his  household  modes  of  doing  this.  His  Christmas 
dinner,  as  it  appealed  somewhat  to  the  superstitions 
and  the  fancies,  was  designed  for  this  end  also.  And 
when  the  great  hall  was  thrown  open  to  his  guests, 
dressed  in  a  deep  Gothic  garment  of  green  boughs 
and  branches,  sprinkled  with  red  berries  and  blue, 
with  candles  distributed  between,  and  a  great  oak 
wood  fire  blazing  at  the  extremity — with  a  stately 
arch  of  green  at  each  end  of  the  table,  and  one  of 
triumphal  aspect  and  colossal  size  spanning  its  centre 
— the  entering  company  felt  themselves  transported 
to  the  old  baronial  domains  of  our  Anglo-Norman 
ancestry,  and  their  minds  were  naturally  elevated 
with  the  moral  sentiments  which  grew  out  of  their 
recollections  of  history.  The  quaint  masking  was  not 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  381 

without  its  influence.  The  device  was  a  homily ;  and 
when  the  head  waiter  made  his  appearance,  bringing 
in,  as  the  first  dish,  the  "  boar's  head,"  done  after  the 
ancient  Saxon  method,  dressed  in  rosemary,  and  with 
a  huge  lemon  in  its  open  mouth,  they  were  all  in  the 
mood  to  join  in  chorus  with  the  host,  who,  knife  in 
hand,  began  chanting  merrily  the  ancient  carol : — 

"  Caput  apt  defer o 

Reddens  laudes  Domino. 
"  The  bore's  head  in  hand  bring  we 
With  garlands  gay  and  rosemarie, 
I  pray  you  all  sing  merrily, 
Qui  estes  in  convivio. 

"  This  head  you  must  understand, 
Is  chief  service  in  this  land, 
Looke  wherever  it  be  scanned, 
Servite  cum  ccmtico. 

"  Be  glad,  gentles,  lord  and  lasse, 
That  to  cheer  you  this  Chrystmasse, 
We  do  bid  the  bore's  head  passe, 
Clad  in  rue  and  rosemarie." 

Set  in  the  centre  of  the  table,  this  "armed  head" 
was  soon  surrounded  by  the  several  solid  meats  for 
which  John  Bull  has  always  been  renowned,  and  the 
taste  for  which  has  been  amply  inherited  in  the  South, 
with  certain  "  graffings"  of  our  own.  Ham  and 
turkey,  for  example,  are  certain  as  the  day  at  our 
Christmas,  and  when  venison  is  procurable  it  is  never 
omitted  from  the  board.  But  ours  is  no  mere  cata- 
logue. The  reader  must  imagine  the  variety.  He 
must  suppose  the  presence  of  roast  and  boiled — the 


382  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

beef  and  the  venison  pastry— the  duck  as  well  as  the 
turkey,  and  much  of  these  to  have  been  stricken  wild 
in  the  woods  and  waters,  with  all  the  provoking  fresh- 
ness of  the  game  flavor  upon  them.  Wines  of  ancient 
denomination — Madeira  that  had  been  walled  up  for 
thirty  years,  and  sherry  that  had  grown  pale,  indeed, 
from  weight  of  years,  was  at  hand ;  but  our  host  con- 
fined himself,  on  this  day,  chiefly  to  his  new  supply 
of  natty  English  ale — a  potation  which  did  honor  to 
the  British  breweries1.  The  dessert  was  composed  of 
the  fruits  of  Cuba  and  the  North,  nuts  and  figs,  not 
forgetting  pindars,  groundnuts,  or  peanuts,  as  they 
call  them  north  of  the  Delaware.  Nor  had  the  dam- 
sels of  the  household  neglected  the  usual  preparation 
of  mince-pies  and  plum-puddings.  In  the  latter  arti- 
cle, in  particular,  our  worthy  colonel  was  resolute  to 
do  honor  to  his  ancient  English  origin,  and  the  plum- 
pudding  was  as  certainly  upon  his  Christmas  table  as 
was  the  soused  head  of  the  boar. 

Day  slipped  away  unconsciously  while  the  parties 
were  still  at  table.  It  seemed  as  if  the  quaint- 
ness  of  the  feast  and  the  admirable  humor  of  "  Mine 
Hoste"  had  penetrated  all  hearts,  and  made  each 
wholly  forgetful  of  his  cares.  Even  the  excellent 
attorney  was  subdued  to  a  temporary  oblivion  of  the 
acridity  which  belonged  to  the  profession,  and  the 
peculiar  rigidity  with  which  he  practised  it ;  and,  at 
the  close  of  a  certain  number  of  glasses  of  old  south- 
side  Madeira,  to  which  he  did  (like  Desdemona — eh  ?) 
"  seriously  incline,"  he  might  have  been  seen  pelting 
our  Bessy  Clinton  with  almonds  across  the  table,  with 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  383 

a  studied  slyness  of  intention  which  his  skill  did  not 
enable  him  to  realize,  and  the  familiarity  of  which 
made  young  Fergus  Berkshire  look  rather  graver  than 
his  wont.  Suddenly  the  great  gun  in  the  park  in 
front  was  heard  to  explode,  and  then  followed  a  huzza 
from  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry,  and  a  cloud  of  urchins 
whom  they  had  gathered  to  the  event.  This  uproar 
was  succeeded  by  one  of  more  gentle  influence.  The 
violin  was  heard  in  an  adjoining  apartment,  the  tam- 
bourine responded  with  its  lively  jingle,  while  the  heavy 
foot  of  old  Jake  Priester,  the  white-headed  butler  of 
the  establishment,  gave  notice  to  the  young  people  of 
stirring  preparation,  which  would  task  all  the  light- 
ness of  their  heels  and  hearts.  But  these  were  pre- 
paratory notes  only,  for  old  Jake  always  took  some 
time  to  get  his  foot  and  fiddle  in  tune,  and  to  put  little 
Christier,  his  grandson,  in  training  with  his  tambourine. 
Of  the  dance  which  followed  we  shall  say  nothing, 
except  that  "  will-he,  nill-he"  Skinflint  was  resolute 
to  dance  with  sweet  Bessy  Clinton.  This  was  a  bold 
resolution  of  the  attorney.  He  had  certainly  taken 
lessons  in  his  youth  ;  but  that  day  had  gone  by  many 
years,  and  his  practice  had  been  much  more  constant 
and  devoted  in  the  courts  of  law  than  in  those  of 
beauty.  Still,  he  had  not  forgotten  the  figures,  and 
the  wine  of  Colonel  Openheart  had  enlivened  his  head, 
if  it  had  not  strengthened  the  virtue  in  his  heels.  He 
was  not  to  be  outdone  by  any  young  fellow,  however 
fresh  from  college.  But  how,  in  the  Virginia  reel 
which  followed,  he  contrived  to  get  entangled  between 
Bessy  Clinton  and  Fergus  Berkshire,  and  to  take  his 


384  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

length  on  the  floor  in  consequence,  is  not  easily  under- 
stood. He  himself  ascribed  it  entirely  to  the  awk- 
wardness or  the  malice  of  young  Berkshire,  whom 
he  did  not  remember,  accordingly,  with  any  especial 
affection.  While  the  young  people  were  dancing  in 
the  mansion  of  "  Maize-in-milk,"  the  blacks  were 
busy  in  the  "  Negro  Quarter."  Thither  Colonel 
Openheart  soon  withdrew,  accompanied  by  Whitfield, 
Whipple,  Bond,  and  the  older  portion  of  the  company. 
The  negroes  had  their  fiddle  also — nay,  they  had  three 
of  them,  such  as  they  were — one  belonging  to  "  Maize- 
in-milk,"  one  from  the  Butler  estate,  and  one  who 
volunteered  from  a  neighboring  plantation.  Such 
wholesale  abandon  as  they  showed — so  much  reckless- 
ness of  care,  and  toil,  and  vexation  of  spirit — would 
delight  a  philanthropist  from  Utopia.  Every  house 
had  its  circle,  with  open  doors — and  the  grounds 
between  their  several  cabins  were  filled  with  jigging 
groups — tossing  heads,  kicking  shins,  rompings  and 
rollicking — with  the  rare  impulse  of  so  many  happy 
urchins  just  let  loose  from  school.  They  had  their 
supper  too,  and  devoured  a  good-sized  barbacued  steer, 
and  several  hogs,  to  say  nothing  of  sundry  possums, 
made  captive  the  night  before.  Of  bread,  the  con- 
sumption was  intolerably  vast ;  and  some  fifty  gallons 
of  persimmon  beer — an  innocent  domestic  beverage 
of  their  own  manufacture,  somewhat  resembling 
cider — were  finished  before  the  fiddlers  and  dancers 
showed  signs  of  weariness.  It  grew  to  the  shortest 
possible  hours  before  "  Maize-in-milk"  was  every- 
where fairly  wrapped  in  slumber. 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  385 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WE  trust  that  our  readers  have  not  forgotten  our 
last  Christmas  at  "Maize-in-milk."  Since  that  pe- 
riod, two  anniversaries  of  this  happy  season  have 
elapsed — we  will  not  say  how  happily — at  that  ancient 
manor.  But  times  have  somewhat  changed  since  then. 
The  weather  now  has  grown  less  favorable  to  field 
sports.  The  sun  is  far  less  cheering.  The  fields  look 
gloomy.  The  woods,  stripped  of  their  foliage,  have  a 
ghostly  aspect,  that  chills  and  discourages.  It  lacks 
some  three  weeks  to  Christmas,  yet  the  cotton  fields, 
which  at  good  seasons  were  wont  to  look  white  until 
the  middle  of  January,  are  now  absolutely  bare.  The 
naked  stems,  shorn  of  boll  and  fruit,  stunted,  slender, 
and  with  few  and  feeble  branches,  declare  that  the 
season  has  been  unfriendly,  and  that  the  crop  is  short. 
The  spring  rains  were  unfavorable  to  a  stand;  the 
rich  swamp  bottoms  were  inundated,  when  the  plant 
should  have  been  up ;  the  growing  season  continued 
wet  and  cold ;  and  when  the  partial  crop,  which  did 
promise  to  mature,  was  about  to  do  so,  a  new  enemy 
appeared  in  the  caterpillar  and  the  army-worm. 
These  filthy  insects,  worse  than  the  locusts  of  the 
East,  swept  the  fields  in  a  single  night.  The  leaves 
of  the  plant  first  disappeared  beneath  their  devouring 
ravages ;  the  unopened  bolls  then  perished ;  and  they 
fastened  finally  upon  the  stems  and  fruit,  though  with 
an  appetite  somewhat  diminished.  The  worthy  pro- 
33 


386  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

prietor  of  "  Maize-in-milk"  was  the  first  to  suffer. 
His  fields  were  chiefly  of  that  class  which  felt  the  evil 
consequences  of  excessive  moisture.  The  heavy  rains 
of  spring,  the  continued  inundations  throughout  the 
summer,  and  the  numerous  pests  which  a  burning  sun 
drew  forth  from  the  rank  moisture  of  the  fen  and 
forest,  were  peculiarly  injurious  to  the  low,  but  rich 
swamp  tracts  which  constituted  his  most  productive 
acres.  His  best  lands,  his  chief  reliance,  failed  him, 
and  he  might  be  seen,  towards  the  close  of  a  cheer- 
less day,  the  second  week  in  December,  alone,  and 
riding  gloomily  and  slow  from  his  river  fields  towards 
his  dwelling.  He  felt  all  the  sadness  of  the  prospect. 
There  were  considerations  working  in  his  mind,  which 
rendered  this  failure  particularly  distressing,  if  not 
absolutely  fearful.  The  two  previous  seasons,  though 
not  so  absolutely  lost  as  the  present,  were  yet  not  pro- 
ductive. They  had  not  enabled  him  to  dimmish  the 
debt  which  he  had  incurred  by  the  purchase  of  the 
Butler  negroes.  Not  a  cent  of  this  money  had  been 
paid  beyond  the  interest,  and  that,  for  the  year  about 
to  finish,  was  not  to  be  realized  from  the  products  of 
the  present  crop.  Economy  is  not,  unhappily,  a  fre- 
quent virtue  in  the  household  of  a  southern  planter  of 
the  old  school.  His  income  lessens,  but  that  does  not 
imply  any  lessening  of  his  expenses.  He  does  not 
like  to  approach,  or  to  consider  this  necessity.  His 
training,  in  fact,  has  been  such  as  not  to  suffer  him  to 
do  it.  He  knows  not  well  how  to  put  down  his  horses ; 
to  forbear  the  dinner-parties  and  pleasure-parties  to 
which  his  neighbors  have  become  accustomed  as  well 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  387 

as  himself;  to  put  his  family  and  negroes  upon  short 
commons,  and  to  sell  unnecessary  property  in 'time  to 
save  himself.  Colonel  Openheart  was  no  simpleton. 
He  did  not  lack  courage.  He  was  not  blind  to  his 
danger.  He  was  not  insensible  to  the  claims  of  his 
creditors.  But  the  habit  of  living  like  a  prince,  and 
training  his  children  to  do  the  same,  and  feasting  his 
poorer  neighbors  like  a  feudal  lord — these  made  the 
necessity  of  contracting  equally  difficult  and  irksome. 
He  felt  how  childish  was  the  pride  which  made  him 
unwilling  to  confess  his  inability,  but  the  habit  of 
thinking  and  acting  in  one  way  only  was  incorrigible. 
He  did  not  lack  the  courage  to  say  to  himself,  there 
must  be  no  more  of  this  fine  living;  but  how  say  it 
to  his  wife,  whom  he  had  married  an  heiress,  who 
had  always  been  accustomed  to  the  luxuries  he  was 
required  to  suppress,  and  whose  mature  years  might 
render  it  peculiarly  difficult  to  submit  to  any  change; 
and  how  say  it  to  dear  Bessy  Clinton,  whom  the 
world  looked  upon  as  an  heiress;  and  to  the  boys  at 
college,  how  cut  off  their  allowance ;  and  Ned,  in 
Europe,  who  had  been  no  small  spendthrift,  how  de- 
clare to  him  that  his  drafts  could  no  longer  be  honor- 
ed? These  were  all  duties  which  thrust  themselves 
for  serious  consideration  upon  our  excellent  proprietor, 
and  darkened  his  brow  to  a  corresponding  shadow 
with  that  which  rested  on  the  natural  landscape. 
Some  of  these  duties  had  already  been  attended  to. 
Ned  had  been  long  since  summoned  home  from  Eu- 
rope; the  boys  at  college  had  been  warned  that  with 
the  close  of  the  present  year  they  must  be  satisfied 


388  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

with  but  a  pittance  of  the  money  which  had  hitherto 
supplied  their  wants ;  and  to  his  wife  and  Bessy  Clin- 
ton, the  amiable  husband  and  father  had  dealt  in  hints 
of  his  approaching  difficulties,  which  neither  of  them 
understood.  A  secret  instinct  warned  our  proprietor 
that  his  great  trouble  was  with  Skinflint,  the  attorney 
of  Ingelhart  and  Cripps,  executors  of  the  estate  of 
Butler.  There  had  already  been  some  negotiations 
between  them,  which  had  given  Colonel  Openheart  a 
taste  of  the  quality  of  this  person.  He  was,  it  is 
true,  exceedingly  polite  and  specious,  but  very  search- 
ing, very  scrupulous,  and  very  expensive.  One  thing 
more  than  all  had  impressed  our  planter  with  disquiet 
in  relation  to  the  attorney ;  it  was  a  gradual  approach 
to  forwardness,  consequence,  and  the  show  of  an  im- 
perious will  on  the  part  of  the  other,  in  due  propor- 
tion to  the  evidently  increasing  necessity  for  indulg- 
ence on  the  side  of  Openheart.  The  latter  was  made 
to  anticipate  the  sting  of  being  at  the  mercy  of  one 
with  whom  he  could  have  no  sympathy;  and  it  was 
very  clear  that  the  attorney  was  impatient  for  the 
moment  when  he  could  compel  that  recognition  of  his 
importance,  which,  as  a  man,  Openheart  had  appa- 
rently shown  no  disposition  to  entertain.  Our  pro- 
prietor paced  his  cheerless  fields  with  a  momently 
increasing  cheerlessness  of  mood.  He  was  joined  by 
old  Enoch,  to  whom  for  several  minutes  he  said  no- 
thing. At  length,  shaking  his  head,  he  exclaimed : 
"  Old  man,  this  might  have  been  better!" 

"  How,  better,  maussa,  enty  de  rain  and  de  cater- 
pillar?" 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  389 

"I  know  all  about  the  rain  and  the  caterpillar;  I 
know  the  mischief  they  have  done,  and  wish  to  hear 
nothing  on  that  subject ; — but  had  you  minded  what 
I  said,  had  you  taken  in  the  upper  fields  instead  of 
the  lower,  they  would  not  have  been  drowned,  and  we 
should  have  saved  sixty  acres  there  at  least;  but  no, 
you  must  have  your  own  way  ;  you  must  know  better 
than  anybody  else." 

"  Well,  maussa,  you  nebber  been  say  plant  dem, 
and  leff  de  lower  field ;  you  say,  '  I  t ink  you  better 
plant  dem  upper,'  and  /  been  tink  diffren,  so  I  tells 
you,  and  you  say,  *  Well!"* " 

The  answer  was  conclusive.  Colonel  Openheart, 
instead  of  issuing  his  orders,  had  left  it  to  Enoch's 
discretion,  contenting  himself  with  giving  a  sugges- 
tion instead  of  a  command.  This  is  a  frequent  error 
of  the  old  planter  of  Carolina. 

"  Well,  it  is  too  late  now  to  complain.  How  are 
your  cattle?" 

"  De  winter  is  mighty  hard  'pon  dem,  maussa." 

"  How  many  hogs  have  you  got  in  pen  for  slaugh- 
ter?" 

"  Sebenty-tree." 

"Instead  of  a  hundred  and  fifty.  How  do  you 
account  for  that,  Enoch,  when  we  turned  out  more 
than  two  hundred  and  fifty  into  the  swamp  last  spring, 
and  your  hog-minder  has  been  carrying  out  his  three 
bushels  of  corn  daily,  for  six  months,  to  keep  them 
up?" 

"  Well,  maussa,  dere's  no  telling ;  but  de  varmints 
in  de  swamp  is  mighty  hard  'pon  de  pigs  dis  season — 
33* 


390  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

de  wild-cat,  de  niggers,  and  dem  poor  buckrah,  Moses 
Daborne,  'Lishe  Webter,  Zeke  Tapan,  and  dat  half 
Ingin,  Sam  Johnson.  Ef  you  could  only  clear  de 
swamp  of  dem  white  niggers,  you  could  raise  hog  tell 
you  couldn't  count  dem." 

"The  old  story!  Enough.  Ride  up  to  the  post- 
office  and  bring  me  the  papers  and  letters." 

Our  proprietor  was  once  more  alone.  "  The  world 
goes  wrong  with  me  on  every  side.  I  am  either  des- 
tined, or  I  am  imbecile.  I  have  certainly  been  weak 
and  erring,  profligate,  thoughtless ;  as  wildly  confident 
of  the  future  as  ever  was  a  poor  boy  with  a  pocket 
full  of  shillings  and  a  long  holiday  before  him.  I 
must  amend  promptly  or  all  is  lost.  If  Ingelhart  and 
Cripps,  or  rather,  if  Skinflint  will  indulge,  one  good 
crop  will  gain  me  time  ;  two  good  crops  at  good  prices, 
and  all  would  be  safe.  But  there's  the  rub !  This 
swamp  cultivation  is  so  uncertain,  and  these  good 

prices  are  so  doubtful,  and — the  d 1  take  these 

lawyers  and  merchants  ;  they  get  everything  at  last!" 
And  then  he  mused  in  silence,  looking  neither  to  the 
right  nor  left,  as  he  went  forward.  Passing  out  of 
the  open  fields,  he  penetrated  a  dark  avenue  which 
ran  through  a  dense  and  umbrageous  swamp-forest, 
which  formed,  as  it  were,  a  boundary  between  the 
river-lands  and  uplands,  and  was  crowded  with  an 
immense  growth  of  cypress,  ash,  poplar,  and  pine — 
so  densely  arrayed  that,  though  in  midwinter,  when 
all  but  the  evergreens  were  stripped  of  foliage,  the 
beams  of  the  sun  were  seldom  suffered  to  find  en- 
trance. The  day  being  clouded,  the  darkness  of  this 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  391 

region  was  still  more  oppressive,  and  a  slight  shiver 
shook  the  frame  of  our  already  desponding  proprietor 
as  he  entered  the  narrow  and  dismal  passage.  At 
this  moment  an  owl  shrieked  above  him,  a  huge  fowl, 
bald  but  horned,  whose  great  human  eyes  and  horrid 
screech  might  well  disquiet,  with  unpleasant  forebod- 
ings, the  mood  of  one  so  circumstanced  as  our  worthy 
planter.  "  How  like,"  he  exclaimed,  "  to  the  voice 
of  Skinflint.  I  almost  fancied  at  first  that  it  was  he 
crying  out  to  me."  He  looked  up  as  he  spoke,  and 
beheld  the  bird  sitting  upon  a  great  limb  almost  over- 
head, and  looking  directly  down  upon  him.  He  rode 
on,  the  little  incident  oppressing  him  unpleasantly, 
and  much  more  than  his  pride  was  willing  to  admit. 
"  Why  does  that  fellow  cross  my  fancy  thus?  What 
is  he  to  me  ?  What  can  he  do  ?  He  can  have  no  pur- 
pose but  for  his  clients,  and  these  may  be  satisfied — 
let  the  worst  come  to  the  worst — by  a  timely  surren- 
der of  the  property."  But  a  second  thought  taught 
him  not  to  lay  this  flattering  unction  to  his  soul.  He 
had  bought  the  Butler  negroes  at  high,  and  the  same 
sort  of  property  was  now  selling  at  low  prices.  The 
loss  must  be  large,  and  must  be  made  up  out  of  his 
own  estates.  Then  the  interest,  then  his  own  debts, 
which,  to  meet  this  interest,  already  had  been  suffered 
to  grow  to  a  heavy  item  !  Altogether,  the  prospect 
was  such  that  our  proprietor  of  "  Maize-in-milk"  was 
only  too  happy  to  exclude  the  subject  altogether  from 
his  thoughts.  But  this  was  not  so  easy,  and  his 
gloomy  mood  continued  till  he  reached  his  dwelling, 
where,  soon  after,  the  contents  of  his  mail  gave  it  an 


392 

increase  of  sting  and  bitterness.  "  A  letter  from  Mr. 
Skinflint,"  he  remarked  quietly  to  his  wife,  uin  which 
he  speaks  of  being  here  in  three  days.  That  must 
bring  him  here  to-morrow.  Let  us  see — the  letter  is 
dated  the  12th.  Yes,  indeed,  to-morrow  we  may  look 
for  him." 

"What  does  lie  come  for  ?"  said  the  simple-hearted 
but  shrewd  mother,  looking  up  at  Bessy  Clinton.  The 
latter  did  not  see  the  glance,  and  did  not  appear  to 
hear  the  inquiry. 

"  You  forget,"  said  the  colonel,  "  that  he  has  the 
management  of  all  the  business  of  the  Butler  estate." 

"  Did  you  say  that  Mary  Butler  was  coming,  papa?" 

"  Not  unless  this  letter  says  so,  which  I  see  comes 
from  Bloomsdale,  and  is  addressed  to  you." 

Bessy  Clinton  received  and  read  the  epistle  with 
eagerness.  "There,  mamma,  it  is  from  Mary,  and 
she  and  her  aunt  both  are  coming,  and  will  be  here 
on  Saturday." 

"  We  shall  have  a  full  house,  then,  for  Fergus 
Berkshire  rode  in  this  morning  to  say  that  his  mother 
would  be  up  from  ,the  city  in  three  days,  and  would 
spend  the  Christmas  with  us." 

The  communication  was  received  in  grave  silence  ; 
Colonel  Openheart,  his  letters  still  in  his  hand,  steadily 
watching  the  fire  as  flake  by  flake  crumbled  away  into 
the  mass  below. 

"  We  shall  have  a  full  house,  Mr.  Openheart," 
repeated  the  lady. 

<«  Yes." 

A  pause. 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  393 

"  Why,  husband,  you  seem  to  be  in  a  dream  !" 

"Yes— yes,  I  hear." 

"  I  am  glad  you  do,  for  it  is  necessary  that  you 
should  write  at  once  for  supplies  for  Christmas.  The 
sugar  is  almost  out ;  we  must  have  several  pounds  of 
green  tea,  and  perhaps  a  little  black,  for  Mrs.  Berk- 
shire asked  for  it  when  she  was  here  before.  She 
has  learned  the  use  of  it  at  the  North,  where  I  am  told 
they  drink  no  other  kind.  And  raisins,  and  currants, 
and  almonds,  apples,  and — " 

We  need  not  follow  the  good  housekeeper  through 
the  catalogue.  Our  worthy  proprietor  was  almost  in 
despair,  yet  he  subdued  his  feelings  with  great  firm- 
ness and  strength  of  will.  Bessy  Clinton  alone  per- 
ceived that  something  was  wrong.  Her  eye  perused  the 
countenance  of  her  father  with  a  modest  interest,  that 
did  not  suffer  him  to  see  that  he  was  watched.  She 
saw  that  his  face  had  grown  somewhat  paler  than  its 
wont.  She  had  already  remarked  that  he  had  grown 
thinner  during  the  past  few  months,  and  she  now 
fancied  that  his  hair  had  put  on  a  more  snowy  com- 
plexion. She  saw  and  mused,  but  was  properly  silent. 
Colonel  Openheart  reopened  one  of  the  letters  which 
he  had  just  received.  It  was  the  polite  request  of  his 
grocer  that  his  account  should  be  attended  to.  The 
sum  total  was  set  down,  that  there  should  be  no  mis- 
take, $718  44 ;  and  here  were  wants  which  must  in- 
crease it  considerably,  and  no  crop,  and  no  means  of 
payment,  but  by  a  great  sacrifice  of  property. 

"I  wish  there  was  no  such  season  as  Christmas." 


394  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

"  Oh,  papa !"  exclaimed  Bessy  Clinton,  in  reproach- 
ful accents,  "  how  can  you  wish  so  ?" 

Mrs.  Openheart  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"At  least,"  said  the  proprietor,  "I  may  be  per- 
mitted to  wish  that  this  Christmas  were  fairly  over." 

"  What,  papa,  just  when  I  am  calculating  upon  this 
as  the  most  merry  Christmas  of  any  that  we  have  ever 
had  !"  and  the  sweet  girl,  as  she  spoke,  had  glided  to 
the  chair  where  her  father  sat,  and  with  arm  that 
circled  his  neck  was  bending  round  and  looking  up 
affectionately  in  his  face.  A  slight  moisture  gathered 
in  his  eyes,  which  it  was  just  possible  for  him  to  sub- 
due. 

"  May  you  ever  find  it  happy  with  you  at  Christ- 
mas, Bessy,  and  at  all  other  seasons.  God  bless  you, 
my  dear  child ;  you  are  of  more  comfort  to  me  than 
all  the  others.  But  I  can  scarcely  share  with  you  in 
your  delights  this  Christmas." 

"  And  why  not,  papa  ?" 

"  You  know  that  I  have  made  no  crop  this  year ; 
there  was  a  failure  last  year  also,  and  another  partial 
failure  the  year  before,  and  my  expenses  have  been- 
very  heavy.     Bills  must  be  paid,  and — " 

"  Didn't  I  warn  you  of  it,  husband,  when  you  would 
buy  those  Butler  negroes  ?"  said  the  good  wife,  with 
an  exulting  shake  of  the  head  and  finger. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Openheart,  you  did,"  answered  the 
husband,  mildly,  "  but  that  was  only  after  they  were 
bought ;  and  the  question  now  is,  not  exactly  as  to 
your  credit  as  a  prophet,  but  to  mine  as  a  paymaster." 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  395 

The  sagacious  lady  felt  the  gentle  rebuke  and  was 
silent. 

"  There  are  debts  to  be  paid,  Bessy  Clinton,"  con- 
tinued the  father,  affectionately,  though  sadly  ;  "  and 
this  it  is  which  makes  me  tremble  even  at  the  addi- 
tional charges  which  this  Christmas  is  to  bring  upon 
me." 

"But  our  friends  must  be  received  with  proper 
welcome,  Colonel  Openheart,"  said  the  lady. 

"Oh,  true,"  was  the  answer,  as  if  it  were  a  matter 
of  course  that  certain  appearances  should  be  main- 
tained even  though  at  the  sacrifice  of  everything; 
"  true,  true,  your  groceries  shall  be  ordered,  and  we 
shall  be  prepared,  I  trust,  to  welcome  with  proper 
warmth  every  guest  who  may  honor  us  with  his  pre- 
sence^— not  forgetting  that  bird  of  evil  aspect  and 
voice,  Richard  Skinflint,  Esq.,  himself.  But  I  am 
afraid  it  will  cost  us  greatly,  and  we  must  look  to 
contract  our  expenses  among  ourselves,  and  make  up 
in  this  way  what  our  hospitality  may  dissipate.  I 
will  order  what  you  desire.  This  year  there  shall  be 
no  changes.  Merrie  old  Christmasse  must  visit  the 
children,  too,  as  usual;  and,  as  we  continue  our  own 
luxuries,  the  negroes  must  have  theirs.  The  New 
Year  must  not  be  clouded  to  our  inferiors  because 
we  are  gloomy." 

"  But  we  shall  not  be  gloomy,  papa,"  said  Bessy 
Clinton,  twining  herself  about  him  and  kissing  his 
cheeks  fondly.  "  This  dark  weather  will  disappear  ; 
hereafter  you  will  have  good  seasons  and  good  luck. 
Let  me  prophesy — me,  Bessy  Clinton,  among  the 


396  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

prophets — that  next  year  will  be  a  famous  crop  year, 
prices  high — " 

"And  grocers'  low,"  was  the  somewhat  sober  con- 
clusion of  the  father.  "  You  are  a  good  girl,  Bessy, 
and  I  will  probably  remind  you  of  your  prophecy  next 
Christmas,  as  your  mother  takes  care  to  remind  me  of 
hers — that  is,  when  they  happen  to  be  true.  But 
what  is  here  ?  Looking  at  Skinflint's  letter  and  the 
grocer's,  I  have  omitted  one  that  would  seem  to  be 
from  Ned." 

"  From  Ned  ?"  exclaimed  mother  and  daughter  in 
the  same  breath. 

"  It  looks  like  his  hand,  and  is  from  .New  York. 
Sure  enough,  it  is  he.  He  reached  New  York  on 
Friday  last,  in  the  Sylvie  de  Grasse,  from  Havre,  and 
will  be  in  Charleston  by  the  Wilmington  boat." 

"  When,  papa,  when  ?" 

"  To-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  !  Dear,  dear  Ned,  how  I  long  to  see 
his  face  again." 

The  ejaculations  of  Bessy  Clinton  were  sufficient 
for  the  rest.  The  mother's  eyes  were  full  of  bright 
tears,  and  in  the  grateful  thoughts  of  a  favorite  son 
arrived  at  home  and  manhood,  the  cares  which  troubled 
the  father  were  temporarily  forgotten. 

The  next  day  brought  Skinflint.  He  was  received 
with  respect  and  kindness,  if  not  cordiality;  though 
neither  our  proprietor  nor  the  worthy  matron,  his 
wife,  beheld  his  coming  with  any  satisfaction.  The 
former  could  not  forget  that  it  was  in  the  power  of 
this  man,  with  whom  he  could  have  no  sympathies, 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  397 

materially  to  impair  his  fortunes  ;  and  the  latter  had 
suspicions  which  never  crossed  her  companion's  mind, 
that  Skinflint's  eye  was  fixed  upon  her  daughter  with 
an  expression  which  already  denotes  the  foregone  con- 
clusion of  the  hawk,  who  sees,  from  his  swing  in  air, 
where  the  partridge  is  about  to  nestle.  Any  notion 
that  such  was  the  passion  of  the  attorney,  never  once 
troubled  the  thought  of  Colonel  Openheart,  whose 
pride  of  character  could  not  for  an  instant  tolerate 
the  idea  of  any  sympathies  between  a  creature  of  such 
avid  and  selfish  character  and  his  purely-minded  and 
generous  child.  But  Mrs.  Openheart  said  nothing  of 
her  conjectures,  and  the  fears  of  her  husband  with 
regard  to  Skinflint  were  wholly  of  a  different  charac- 
ter. They  rode  out  together  a  little  while  after  the 
arrival  of  the  latter,  and  crossed  the  cotton  and  corn- 
fields in  their  route  to  the  river.  There  was  an  un- 
pleasant grin  upon  the  lips  of  Skinflint  as  the  mean 
appearance  of  the  cotton  stems  denoted  the  complete 
failure  of  the  crop.  He  had  heard  something  of  this 
before,  enough  to  satisfy  him  that  things  were  going 
on  as  he  wished  them.  A  southern  planter  is  apt  to 
be  suspicious  of  your  comments  when  he  is  conscious 
that  his  crop  is  obviously  inferior,  and  the  eye  of 
Colonel  Openheart  was  soon  sensible  of  the  expres- 
sion on  the  countenance  of  Skinflint. 

"Not  much  cotton  here  this  year,  colonel,"  said  he, 
switching  his  boot  as  they  rode. 

"  None,  sir,  none,  as  you  may  see,"  was  the  sudden, 
almost  sharp  reply. 
34 


398  s  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

"  Hum !"  A  pause.  "  How  is  your  corn  crop, 
colonel  ?" 

"  Turn  your  horse's  head  with  mine,  and  you  shall 
answer  your  own  question." 

They  rode  aside  to  other  fields.  The  corn-stalks, 
low  and  slender,  told  their  own  story  of  a  blight  quite 
as  great  as  that  in  the  cotton  field. 

"  Why,  colonel,  you  will  hardly  make  enough  to  do 
you  at  this  rate." 

"  Shall  have  to  buy  a  thousand  bushels  at  least,  sir," 
responded  the  other,  almost  fiercely. 

Skinflint  knew  the  fact  a  month  before,  but  it  was 
the  nature  of  the  creature  to  extort  the  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  sufferer,  by  making  him  lay  bare  his  sore 
as  frequently  as  possible,  though  at  each  effort  he  tore 
away  some  portion  of  the  skin. 

"  And  corn  already  seventy  cents,"  was  the  mut- 
tered commentary  of  the  executor. 

"  Seventy-^ve  here,"  was  the  stern  correction  which 
the  proprietor  interposed. 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  Skinflint;  "then  in  three 
weeks  more  it  will  be  a  dollar." 

"  Possibly  two,  sir,"  was  the  second  moody  amend- 
ment. 

"  Scarcely,  colonel,"  was  the  speculative  suggestion 
of  the  attorney.  "  Prices  here,  whenever  they  pass 
beyond  a  certain  point,  bring  in  competition  from 
other  quarters.  Here,  sellers  must  be  governed  by 
some  regard  to  the  Charleston  market,  which  in  turn 
takes  its  color  from  the  extent  of  the  crops  in  Mary- 
land and  North  Carolina.  Now,  as  the  crops  this 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OP  THE  SOUTH.  399 

year  in  these  two  States  have  been  of  average  charac- 
ter, it  follows  that  the  article  will  scarcely  exceed 
eighty  cents  in  Charleston.  Allow  for  the  cost  of 
each  transition  and  freight  by  railroad  or  wagon,  and 
you  must  see  that  it  can  by  no  possibility  exceed  one 
dollar  here,  unless  with  reference  to  some  very  great 
scarcity.  I  don't  think,  all  things  considered,  that 
you  will  have  to  give  more  than  a  dollar,  though  it 
may  possibly,  in  two  months  more,  go  two-eighths 
above  it,  particularly  as  I  suppose  that  none  of  your 
neighbors  have  done  better  than  yourself." 

"  You  mistake,  sir ;  few  of  them  but  have  done 
better." 

"  Indeed  !  But  that  is  very  unfortunate !  But 
you  have  past  seasons  to  rely  upon,  colonel.  You 
have  made  good  crops  heretofore,  and  can  very  well 
afford  to  contend  with  the  evils  of  the  present." 

"  Unfortunately,  sir,  I  have  no  such  source  of  con- 
solation. This  is  the  third,  though  the  worst  by  far, 
of  three  successive  failures." 

"Indeed!  But  suffer  me  to  ask,  Colonel  Open- 
heart,  to  what  do  you  ascribe  these  failures?" 

"Why,  sir,  I  do  not  see  what  good  can  possibly 
arise  to  either  of  us  from  the  inquiry.  Perhaps  the 
shortest  way  would  be  to  adopt  the  suggestion  of  my 
neighbors,  and  to  assume  that  all  the  mischief  lay  in 
the  incapacity  of  the  proprietor." 

An  audible  "hem!"  answered  this  cold  conclusion, 
which  shut  the  door  upon  any  farther  annoyance  from 
this  score  at  least,  and  a  somewhat  protracted  silence 
followed,  broken  at  length  by  Colonel  Openheart, 


400  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

whose  mind  had  been  gradually  steeled  by  the  tone, 
manner,  and  comments  of  his  companion,  to  a  resolute 
approach  to  the  very  subject  which,  over  all,  he  most 
dreaded  and  could  have  wished  to  avoid.  It  was  with 
something  of  desperation,  therefore,  that  he  himself 
opened  the  business  of  his  debt  to  the  estate  of  Butler. 

"I  take  for  granted,  Mr.  Skinflint,  that  there  can 
be  no  reason  why,  in  the  present  condition  of  my 
affairs,  I  should  not  have  ev^ery  indulgence  from 
Messrs.  Ingelhart  and  Cripps.  Miss  Butler  is  still  a 
minor,  and  the  investment  is  notoriously  safe.  I  am 
aware  that  the  entire  payment  is  now  due,  but  it  must 
be  evident  to  you  that  in  the  failure  of  my  crops, 
and  the  low  prices  of  cotton  for  the  last  three  years, 
so  large  a  payment  was  impossible  except  at  great 
sacrifice  of  property.  Besides,  as  you  are  aware,  the 
negroes  were  bought  at  very  high  prices." 

"  Quite  too  high,"  said  Skinflint,  with  some  gravity, 
well  remembering  that  but  for  the  generous  impulse 
of  Openheart,  he  would  have  had  them  at  his  own 
prices.  The  recollection  did  not  make  him  more  ac- 
cessible to  the  suggestions  of  the  proprietor.  "  There 
may  be  some  difficulty  about  the  matter ;  and  I  am 
free  to  confess,  Colonel  Openheart,  that  your  own 
statement  holds  forth  nothing  encouraging  to  a  cre- 
ditor, particularly  in  such  a  case  as  ours,  where  we 
represent  the  interests  of  a  minor.  The  investment 
may  be  safe  at  present,  but  when  you  speak  of  a  fail- 
ure of  three  crops  in  succession,  upon  the  successful 
making  of  which  your  only  chance  of  payment  depends, 
we  are  a  little  disquieted.  Another  failure  diminishes 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OP  THE  SOUTH.  401 

our  securities,  and  necessarily  increases  your  responsi- 
bility to  other  creditors,  and  the  game  may  finally 
depend  upon  the  degree  of  speed  which  the  creditor 
may  make  in  securing  the  stakes." 

Openheart  winced  at  this  cool  suggestion,  but  he 
had  to  control  his  emotions.  The  matter  was  one 
simply  of  business,  and  he  felt  that  he  had  nothing  to 
do  but  put  aside  all  the  sensibilities — quite  unnecessary 
in  such  a  case  and  with  such  a  companion — of  the 
gentleman.  He  answered  quietly,  though  it  tasked 
some  effort  to  do  so  :  "  But  the  property  is  always 
there,  secured  by  mortgage,  which  you  may  foreclose 
at  any  moment." 

"  But  the  property  may  not  be  always  there." 

"How,  sir?" 

"  It  is  a  perishable  property  ;  and  your  real  estates, 
which  are  the  collateral  securities,  may  be  subject  to 
the  more  perfect  liens  of  other  creditors.  Besides, 
sir,  negroes  are  falling  in  value,  and  the  foreclosure 
of  mortgage  at  this  moment  may  be  of  vast  import- 
ance even  to  your  own  safety,  since  the  probabilities 
are  that  they  will  bring  much  better  prices  now — 
though  still  far  less  than  when  you  bought — than 
they  would  twelve  months  hence." 

"  Am  I  to  understand  from  this,  Mr.  Skinflint,  that 
your  instructions  are  to  foreclose  if  payment  be  not 
now  made?" 

"  By  no  means,  sir.     What  I  say,  is  simply  to  sug- 
gest some  of  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  a  decision 
at  this  moment.     I  must  reflect  on  the  condition  of 
affairs,  and  will  communicate  with  my  clients." 
34* 


•     w 

• 

402  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

"  It  is  understood,  Mr.  Skinflint,  that  you  have  the 
entire  confidence  of  Messrs.  Ingelhart  and  Cripps,  and 
that  your  opinion  will  be  almost  certain  to  determine 
their  conduct  ?" 

"  I  flatter  myself,"  replied  the  attorney,  with  a 
mixed  expression  of  meekness  and  complacency,  "  that 
I  am  not  wholly  without  my  influence  over  the  minds 
of  those  gentlemen.  But  you  will  permit  me  to  ask, 
Colonel  Openheart,  with  what  purpose  your  remark  is 
made  ?" 

"  Surely,  sir,  my  purpose  was  a  very  simple  one  ; 
it  was  only  that  I  might  express  the  hope  that  your 
dealings  with  me,  and  your  knowledge  of  .my  affairs, 
were  such  as  would  enable  you  to  assure  your  clients 
of  the  undoubted  security  which  they  possess,  colla- 
terally, for  the  bonds  which  they  hold  of  mine  in  be- 
half of  the  estate  of  Butler." 

The  lawyer  looked  grave  for  a  moment,  then  smil- 
ing and  turning  round  to  his  companion  with  an  air 
of  great  amenity  and  frankness :  "  Colonel  Openheart, 
it  may  be  that  I  shall  find  it  equally  my  pleasure  and 
my  interest  to  serve  you  in  this  manner.  I  think  it 
likely,  sir,  that  I  shall  have  to  seek  a  favor  at  your 
hands  before  I  leave  you.  Now,  sir,  one  good  turn 
deserves  another,  and — " 

"  A  favor  at  my  hands,  Mr.  Skinflint  ?  And,  pray, 
what  is  it  ?" 

"  Excuse  me,  sir ;  not  just  now.  Sufficient  for  the 
day,  &c.  Excuse  me  ;  not  yet ;  not  yet !  Mean- 
while, sir,  if  you  please,  we  will  suspend  the  conver- 
sation on  this  subject." 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  403 

The  manner  of  Skinflint  struck  our  proprietor  un- 
pleasantly. Without  question,  Colonel  Opcnheart  was 
an  aristocrat ;  and  the  familiar,  very  frank,  and  friend- 
ly tones  of  his  companion,  were  decidedly  more  grat- 
ing upon  his  ears  than  the  keen,  avid  utterance  of 
the  calculating  and  selfish  man  of  business.  They 
made  him  uneasy  for  a  moment,  as  he  could  not  pos- 
sibly divine  in  what  way  he  was  expected  to  requite 
the  service  of  the  attorney.  He  was  relieved  when 
he  recollected  that  Skinflint  had  lately  bought  a  plan- 
tation in  his  neighborhood,  and,  being  a  lawyer,  natu- 
rally looked  to  fill  some  seat  either  in  Congress  or  the 
legislature.  The  large  influence  of  Colonel  Openheart 
was  unquestionable,  and  he  now  worried  himself  with 
asking  if  he  could  conscientiously  support  such  a 
person.  But  the  adage  of  which  Skinflint  had  re- 
minded him,  and  which  is  always  a  favorite  one  with 
those  who  recoil  from  trouble,  determined  him  to  dis- 
miss the  evil  to  the  day  when  it  must  come  up ;  and 
thus  satisfied,  our  colonel  readily  complied  with  the 
evident  desires  of  his  companion  to  canter  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  dwelling. 

They  left  the  fields,  accordingly,  after  a  ten  mi- 
nutes' ride,  and  took  their  way  out  into  one  of  the  main 
roads  of  the  country.  They  were  scarcely  entered 
upon  this,  when  they  encountered  Bessy  Clinton  and 
Fergus  Berkshire,  on  horseback,  emerging  from  one 
of  the  long  and  lonely  avenues  leading  out  into  the 
pine  lands.  Could  Colonel  Openheart  have  seen  the 
scowl  that  showed  itself  upon  Skinflint's  brow  at  this 
unexpected  meeting?  The  two  young  people  rode 


: 

404  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

slowly,  and  seemed  totally  absorbed  in  their  own  affairs. 
There  was  an  evident  flush  upon  the  face  of  Bessy 
Clinton,  while  the  cheeks  of  Fergus  seemed  rather 
pale  than  otherwise.  The  parties  exchanged  greetings, 
and  while  the  colonel  and  his  companion  walked  their 
horses,  the  youth  and  damsel  gave  their  steeds  a  free 
rein,  and  were  soon  out  of  sight  in  the  direction  of  the 
dwelling. 

"A  good-looking  young  fellow,  that,"  said  Skin- 
flint, with  some  natural  cleverness.  "  But  ours  is  not 
an  age  of  industry  and  exertion  ;  and  once  give  a 
fellow  a  chance  with  plenty  of  money  on  foreign  tra- 
vel, and  you  may  be  sure  that  all's  over  with  him.  I 
have  good  reason  to  believe  that  young  Berkshire 
made  a  monstrous  hole  in  his  own  and  mother's  capi- 
tal when  he  was  abroad.  His  dissipation  while  in 
Paris  was  said  to  be  notorious." 

"  Said  by  whom,  Mr.  Skinflint  ?" 

"  Oh,  by  everybody.  The  thing  was  all  over  town 
when  he  first  came  home  from  Europe." 

"  Town  is  a  famous  place  for  scandal,  Mr.  Skinflint, 
and  '  they  say'  is  a  proverbial  liar.  I  know  nothing  of 
Berkshire's  doings  while  abroad  except  while  he  was 
in  Paris,  and  there  my  son  Edward  happened  to  be 
with  him  during  his  whole  stay.  Edward  speaks  of 
him  there  as  a  close  and  eager  student  of  the  language, 
the  country,  and  the  fine  arts.  I  very  much  doubt  if 
the  charge  of  dissipation  was  ever  less  properly  made 
than  against  Fergus.  He  shows  no  traces  of  it  now  ; 
and,  indeed,  by  his  general  intelligence,  equal  readi- 
ness and  modesty,  and  large  acquisition  of  facts,  he 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OP  THE  SOUTH.  405 

shows  that  he  could  have  employed  but  little  time  in 
excesses,  or  his  intellectual  gains  must  have  come  by 
instinct.  As  for  his  expenditures — but  it  may  be  that 
your  profession  has  brought  you  to  a  knowledge  of 
straits  in  the  family  with  which  I  am  unfamiliar,  and 
I  must  not  oppose  my  conjectures  to  your  facts.  Still, 
I  cannot  persuade  myself  that  either  he  or  his  mother 
is  in  any  difficulty." 

"Nor  do  I  say  it.  I  have  no  knowledge  of  their 
affairs  myself,  but  it  was  said  they  would  probably 
have  to  put  down  the  city  establishment,  and  retire 
wholly  upon  the  country." 

"Said  probably  by  those  who  speak  rather  from 
their  wishes  than  their  wit.  Mrs.  Berkshire,  while  a 
very  liberal  and  lofty-minded  woman,  is  yet  a  very 
prudent  one.  She  has,  I  think,  trained  her  son  very 
admirably,  and — " 

"  All  that  may  be,  Colonel  Openheart,  but  the  best 
of  training  will  not  always  or  often  secure  our  children 
against  the  temptations  of  a  new  sphere  and  an  in- 
toxicating novelty  in  society." 

"  Always,  sir  ;  good  training  will  always  secure  the 
young  against  any  temptation.  But  the  question  is  as 
to  the  quality  of  training.  What  is  good  and  what 
is  lad  training  is  hardly  settled  yet  among  philoso- 
phers. It  certainly  is  not  among  parents  and  school- 
masters, who  seem  to  me  to  pride  themselves  most 
upon  their  system  where  the  regimen  is  the  very 
worst." 

"  You  may  be  right,  sir,  and  I  am  not  prepared  to 
discuss  a  mere  abstraction;  but  though  this  young 


406  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

man's  education  may  have  been  as  you  think  it,  still 
the  exception  is  possible,  you  know ;  and  while  such 
are  the  reports  in  the  city,  if  I  were  a  father,  I  should 
be  very  jealous  of  the  familiarity  of  any  such  person 
with  a  daughter  of  mine." 

Colonel  Openheart  half  wheeled  his  horse,  about  to 
survey  the  speaker.  "  Really,  Mr.  Skinflint,  I  have 
reason  to  thank  you  for  your  counsel,  and  so  has  my 
family;  but,  believe  me,  we  have  none  of  us  any  ap- 
prehensions either  from  the  vices  of  Fergus  Berkshire 
or  the  weaknesses  of  my  daughter.  Her  training,  at 
least,  has  been  such  that  we  can  confide  everything  to 
her  delicacy ;  which,  in  the  case  of  women,  is  the  best 
security  for  their  discretion.  Still,  sir,  I  thank  you ; 
I  thank  you." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  and  manner  of 
Colonel  Openheart,  that  warned  Mr.  Skinflint  he  had 
ventured  a  little  too  far. 

"  Pardon  me,  Colonel  Openheart,"  he  said,  quickly, 
"  but  I  meant  not  to  advise.  My  remark  was  purely 
general,  and  did  not  specially  relate  to  your  case. 
This  young  man  may  be  a  very  good  young  man. 
Of  my  own  knowledge,  I  can  say  nothing  against  him." 

"  Can  you  upon  the  knowledge  of  any  other  person  ? 
If  you  can,  Mr.  Skinflint,  you  shall  see  that  I  am  as 
vigilant  in  the  protection  of  my  fireside  as  any  man 
in  the  country." 

"  Why  no,  sir,  not  upon  the  knowledge  of  any  one 
in  particular ;  but  what  is  said  by  many,  sir,  places 
the  matter  said  in  that  category,  which,  among  legal 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  407 

men,  constitutes  a  proverbial  notoriety,  and  such  is 
not  supposed  to  need  proving." 

"Good  law,  no  doubt,  but  most  awful  morality! 
Can  you  mention,  among  those  who  deal  in  this  no- 
toriety, one  person  who  professes  to  speak  from  his 
own  knowledge?" 

"No ;  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can." 

"  Then  I  think  that  we  may  safely  venture  to  dis- 
miss the  story,  since  the  truth  that  no  man  will  father 
is  very  apt  to  prove  a  falsehood.  Your  law  rule, 
which  rejects  all  hearsay  testimony,  will  justify  our 
irreverence." 

We  need  not  pursue  the  dialogue,  which  Skinflint, 
confident  as  he  usually  was,  could  not  but  see  had 
terminated  to  his  disadvantage.  His  tone  was  judi- 
ciously lowered,  though  without  lessening  any  of  the 
unfavorable  impressions  which  his  companion  had 
contrived  to  form  of  his  character  and  heart.  Our 
proprietor  treated  him,  however,  with  a  peculiar  civil- 
ity, the  stateliness  of  which,  as  it  kept  him  at  a  dis- 
tance without  affording  him  definite  cause  of  resent- 
ment, was  sufficiently  irksome,  and  he  longed  in  his 
heart  to  have  an  opportunity  to  punish  the  patrician 
for  the  privilege  which  he  exercised,  being  an  honest 
man,  of  behaving  fearlessly  like  one.  It  was  the 
error  of  Skinflint  to  suppose  that,  having  shown  Colo- 
nel Openheart  that  he  was  somewhat  in  his  power,  he 
had  acquired  the  right  to  prescribe  to  him  in  moral 
and  social  respects.  He  was  soon  made  to  see  that 
there  were  some  personal  barriers  which  not  even  his 
legal  and  moneyed  strength  would  enable  him  to  break 


408  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

down.  The  character  which  is  well  grounded  upon 
principle  and  well  trained  by  habit,  never  yields  in 
any  misfortune,  never  succumbs  to  any  condition, 
though  these  may  menace  every  social  and  domestic 
security  that  we  possess. 

At  dinner,  Colonel  Openheart  was  the  hospitable 
landholder ;  that  noble  old  English  character  which 
we  do  not  sufficiently  value,  but  which  is  the  source  of 
England's  best  securities.  He  seemed  to  forget  that 
he  had  cause  of  apprehension  or  annoyance,  and  the 
ease,  the  dignity,  the  grace  with  which  he  presided, 
the  perpetual  watchfulness,  that  saw  that  no  one  re- 
mained unsupplied,  these  all  served  to  extort  from 
the  secret  thought  of  Skinflint  a  wholesome  wonder  as 
to  the  source  of  so  much  equilibrium.  Dinner  was 
late,  and  with  night  came  the  mail,  bringing  a  hurried 
letter  from  Edward,  which  our  proprietor,  for  reasons 
of  his  own,  and  with  (for  him)  unwonted  circumspec- 
tion, forbore  to  read  aloud.  This  letter  told  him  of 
the  young  man's  safe  arrival  in  Charleston,  and  of  his 
intention  to  be  en  route  for  the  plantation  in  another 
day.  Was  it  the  postscript  which  informed  the  father 
that  it  was  the  writer's  purpose  to  take  Bloomsdale  in 
his  way,  and  if  possible  bring  Mary  Butler  and  her 
aunt  along  with  him,  that  kept  him  from  reading  it 
aloud  ? 

The  two  gentlemen  sat  up  late.  We  did  not  men- 
tion that  Fergus  Berkshire  did  not  stay  to  supper,  but 
left  the  company  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  with  an 
apology,  in  which  he  pleaded  necessary  business.  He 
ceased  to  be  the  subject  of  Skinflint's  comment,  but 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  409 

the  occasional  glance  of  the  latter,  as  the  youth  en- 
gaged the  attention  of  Bessy  Clinton,  did  not  escape 
the  eyes  of  the  vigilant  mother.  The  intimacy  be- 
tween the  young  man  and  the  maiden  seemed  to  dis- 
turb the  equilibrium  of  the  attorney,  and  probably 
rendered  him  much  more  precipitate  than  he  would 
have  been  in  a  matter  which,  as  he  sat  with  Colonel 
Openheart  that  night — the  family  having  retired — he 
proceeded  to  bring  up.  We  will  not  adopt  his  lan- 
guage, the  substance  of  which  was  a  formal  proposal 
from  him,  Richard  Skinflint,  attorney  at  law,  for  the 
hand  in  wedlock  of  the  fair  maiden,  Bessy  Clinton 
Openheart.  Many  long  speeches,  circuitously  con- 
ceived and  cumbrously  worded,  prefaced  this  offer. 
Colonel  Openheart  looked  upon  the  speaker  with 
unmitigated  astonishment ;  but  he  was  prudent,  kept 
his  temper  and  his  secret,  and  calmly  answered  the 
lawyer,  that  he,  Skinflint,  should  be  permitted  an 
interview  in  the  morning  with  his  daughter,  and 
hear  his  answer  from  her  own  lips.  Skinflint  said 
something  in  reply  to  this  in  approbation  of  the  excel- 
lent custom  prevailing  in  certain  countries,  where  the 
parents  adjusted  among  themselves  the  contracts  of 
marriage,  and  the  young  people  were  sufficiently  duti- 
ful to  submit.  But  Colonel  Openheart's  reply  was 
brief  and  to  the  purpose.  His  daughter  must  deter- 
mine for  herself  in  a  matter  so  vital  to  her  own  hap- 
piness. The  night  passed  over  with  due  rapidity. 
The  morning  brought  breakfast  and  the  promised  in- 
terview. Conducting  his  daughter  to  the  library,  he 
instructed  her  to  await  the  coming  of  Mr.  Skinflint, 
35 


410  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

and  to  give  becoming  ear  to  his  communications.  The 
latter  was  apprised  that  the  damsel  was  in  waiting, 
and  with  something  more  of  flurry  and  agitation  than 
ever  troubled  him  in  his  ordinary  practice,  he  stole 
half  on  tiptoe  into  the  designated  apartment.  How 
he  purred  and  prabbled,  with  what  studied  and  formal 
phrase  he  proceeded  to  a  declaration,  in  which,  if  the 
heart  be  only  warm  and  faithful,  the  lips  may  bungle 
and  the  tongue  falter  without  dread  of  censure  or 
ridicule,  we  will  not  say.  Enough  that  his  proposals, 
when  Bessy  Clinton  fully  understood  them,  were 
quite  as  confounding  to  that  damsel  as  they  were  to 
her  father.  "We  need  scarcely  say  that  they  met  with 
ready  rejection.  What  a  blind  thing  is  selfishness  ! 
Here,  now,  was  a  person  of  great  worldly  shrewdness, 
singularly  sagacious  in  common  business  transactions, 
yet  blundering  with  the  inconceivable  notion  that  he 
could  possibly  prevail  with  youth,  beauty,  tenderness, 
and  the  most  generous  and  confiding  faith.  Taught 
by  selfishness  to  regard  wealth  as  the  only  power,  he 
had  forgotten  that  such  subjects  as  affection,  duty, 
taste,  sweetness,  and  grace,  must  always  acknowledge 
far  different  authorities.  It  was  impossible  for  sweet 
Bessy  Clinton  to  be  unkind  or  harsh,  and  though 
greatly  surprised,  if  not  indignant,  at  the  proposal, 
she  replied  with  gentleness  :  She  was  sorry  that  Mr. 
Skinflint  had  set  his  heart — his  heart ! — on  his  hand- 
maid, but  really  the  thing  was  out  of  the  question. 
She  was  very  grateful,  but  begged  respectfully  to  be 
excused.  Do  not  suppose  that  there  was  any  mock- 
ing in  her  response.  The  irony  is  wholly  ours.  His 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  411 

pill  was  quite  as  much  sweetened  as  it  well  could  be, 
but  was  still  such  as  he  found  it  difficult  to  swallow. 
He  would  have  argued  the  case,  as  he  recovered  his 
courage,  precisely  as  he  would  have  done  before  a 
jury,  in  the  matter  of  cow  and  calf,  in  trespass  or 
replevin — and  did  argue  it.  The  damsel  heard  him 
quietly  to  the  end,  and  affirmed  the  previous  verdict. 
He  hurried  to  Colonel  Openheart,  as  to  a  court  of 
appeal,  but  the  colonel  disclaimed  jurisdiction ;  and 
ordering  his  horses,  with  fury  but  ill  concealed,  Skin- 
flint prepared  to  take  his  departure  before  dinner. 
With  genuine  politeness,  regarding  the  circumstances, 
our  proprietor  did  not  urge  him  to  delay.  With  nice 
and  delicate  consideration,  he  complied  with  his 
wishes,  conversed  with  him  without  reserve  and  with 
studied  kindness,  but  studiously  forbore  any  absurd, 
apologetic,  or  sympathetic  discourses.  The  parties 
separated  on  good  terms,  Skinflint  shaking  his  host's 
hand  warmly,  and  smiling  in  his  face  affectionately  as 
he  took  his  departure ;  but  ere  he  was  well  out  of 
sight,  he  shook  his  hand  menacingly  back  upon  the 
habitation,  and  swore,  in  muttered  accents,  through 
his  closed  teeth,  a  bitter  oath  of  vengeance.  Our 
proprietor  knew  enough  of  the  person  to  apprehend 
that  he  had  made  a  fast  enemy,  but  he  remembered 
the  proverb,  and  put  off  his  regrets  and  sorrows,  as 
well  as  he  might,  to  the  day  of  evil  that  should  compel 
them. 

We  pass  over  three  days,  and  still  Edward  had  not 
arrived.  "  He  is  sick  in  Charleston,"  said  the  anx- 
ious mother.  "  He  is  at  Bloomsdale,"  said  the  more 


412  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

knowing  daughter.  "  He  is  spending  time  and  money, 
wherever  he  is,"  said  the  dissatisfied  father,  "  instead 
of  being  at  his  law."  The  fourth  day  brought  the 
truant,  as  an  escort  to  Mrs.  St.  Glair  and  Mary 
Butler.  He  had  been  delayed  at  Bloomsdale  at  the 
requisition  of  the  ladies,  and  the  excuse  was  readily 
received  by  the  parents,  particularly  as  it  was  urged 
by  a  tall,  handsome,  and  well-bred  youth,  more  than 
six  feet  high,  admirably  proportioned,  and  carrying 
himself  like  a  prince  of  the  blood  royal.  The  father 
forgot  his  troubles  as  he  saw  his  own  youth  restored 
and  reflected  in  his  son.  He  was  not  suffered  to 
forget  them  long.  That  very  evening  brought  him  a 
letter  from  Skinflint,  as  the  attorney  for  Ingelhart 
and  Cripps. 

"  Sense  of  duty,  &c.  Foreclosure  of  mortgage,  &c. 
Unavoidable,  &c.  Very  sorry,  &c. 

"With  sentiments  of  profound  respect,  &c. 
(Signed,}  "  RICHARD  SKINFLINT." 

The  proprietor  crumpled  the  graceless  epistle  in 
his  palm,  and  hurled  it  into  the  fire.  The  wife  alone 
saw  the  act.  The  young  people  were  busy  around 
the  evening  table,  examining  a  world  of  curiosities 
which  Edward  had  brought  home  from  Europe.  They 
little  knew  of  the  bitterness  that  dashed  the  cup  of 
joy  even  while  it  was  at  the  old  father's  lips.  He 
uttered  no  sigh,  no  word.  He  would  not  cloud  the 
happiness  of  that  youthful  circle.  He  resolved  upon 
the  exercise  of  all  his  manhood.  Taking  his  hat,  he 
went  forth  into  the  night.  It  was  a  lovely  starlight. 
The  skies  were  never  more  thickly  studded  with  the 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  413 

saintly  watchers,  and  all  were  bright  and  beautiful  as 
if  they  had  never  felt  a  cloud.  He  walked  down  the 
noble  avenue  of  oaks  and  cedars  towards  the  high 
road.  Ere  he  reached  the  gateway,  a  vehicle  dashed 
by  in  considerable  haste,  which  he  recognized  as  that 
of  Skinflint.  This  person  was  also  a  proprietor,  and 
planted  only  a  few  miles  distant.  Though  not  a  resi- 
dent at  his  place,  for  his  professional  duties  in  the  city 
would  not  suffer  this,  he  yet  contrived  occasionally  to 
visit  his  plantation,  where,  when  not  the  guest  of  his 
neighbors,  he  was  of  his  overseer.  The  angry  feeling 
in  Colonel  Openheart's  breast  was  strongly  excited  as 
he  detected  the  carriage  of  his  enemy.  He  himself 
remained  unseen  in  the  shadow  of  the  ancestral  trees, 
but  he  clearly  discerned  the  head  of  Skinflint  as  he 
thrust  it  forth  for  examination  while  passing  the  ave- 
nue of  the  man  whom  he  now  fondly  thought  to  victim- 
ize. Colonel  Openheart  conjectured  his  thoughts,  and 
the  fierce  idea  rose  in  his  mind  of  a  deadly  grapple 
with  the  scoundrel.  Had  they  met  on  foot  or  on 
horseback  in  the  high  road,  it  had  been  scarcely  pos- 
sible, in  the  present  mood  of  our  proprietor,  to  have 
forborne  inflicting  some  indignity  upon  the  base  and 
malignant  creature.  But  he  passed,  never  dreaming 
that  Openheart  was  so  near.  Had  he  fancied  it,  his 
head  had  never  shown  itself  from  the  carriage  window. 
We  must  hurry  over  a  week  in  order  to  realize  the 
more  important  events  in  our  narrative.  We  are 
again  on  the  threshold  of  Father  Chrystmasse.  Our 
lady  proprietor  at  "  Maize-in-milk"  has  received  the 
necessary  supplies  from  the  grocer.  The  hogs  are 
35* 


414  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

killed,  the  mince-pies  are  made,  and  the  usual  guests, 
invited  and  uninvited,  are  already  pouring  in.  The 
songs  of  Bessy  Clinton  and  Mary  Butler  are  ringing 
through  the  dwelling,  and  every  customary  chorus, 
gathered  from  the  early  poets  in  tribute  to  the  season, 
has  been  employed  to  guide  the  merry  damsels  in  the 
decoration  of  mantel,  and  mirror,  and  window,  and  to 
cheer  them  in  the  prosecution  of  their  pretty  tasks. 
For  a  week  beforehand  the  dance  was  continued 
nightly  in  the  great  hall.  There  were  now  Fergus 
Berkshire  and  Edward  Openheart,  and  one  or  more 
of  the  latter's  old  acquaintances,  to  say  nothing  of 
neighboring  maidens  just  rising  into  womanhood,  whom 
the  hospitalities  of  "  Maize-in-milk"  had  brought  to- 
gether. Two  days  before  Christmas,  John  and  William 
made  their  appearance  from  college ;  and  Tom  Open- 
heart,  now  a  lad  of  twelve,  and  very  tall  for  his  age, 
was  permitted  to  add  to  the  strength  of  the  company, 
in  regard  to  the  interests  of  certain  of  the  damsels 
who  were  about  his  own  age.  Altogether,  the  au- 
spices were  particularly  favorable  to  the  sports  of  the 
young.  Our  ancient  friends,  Jones,  Whipple,  Whit- 
field,  Bond  and  daughter,  and  good  old  father  Kinsale 
— who  in  growing  older  did  not  seem  to  have  grown 
a  jot  more  feeble  than  he  was  twenty  years  before — 
also  came  with  the  day  preceding  Christmas,  and  wore 
their  pleasantest  aspects.  But  the  weather  had  a  cold 
forbidding  complexion  still,  and  our  proprietor  found 
it  difficult  to  keep  from  his  own  visage  the  doubts  and 
apprehensions  which  were  working  in  his  mind.  At 
this  moment  a  stranger  rode  into  the  inclosure,  who 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  415 

proved  to  be  the  sheriff  of  the  district,  lie  declared 
his  purpose  very  civilly,  regretted  the  necessity  under 
which  he  was  placed,  showed  his  credentials,  and 
would  receive  either  the  money  on  the  bond,  or  the 
negroes.  There  was  no  remedy ;  Colonel  Openheart 
submitted  with  simple  fortitude.  The  negroes  were 
at  the  sheriff's  service.  He  excused  himself  to  his 
guests,  and  accompanied  the  officer  to  the  negro- 
quarter. 

"But  why  not  wait  till  sale  day,  sir?"  was  the  in- 
quiry of  Colonel  Openheart.  "  They  shall  then  be 
forthcoming." 

The  officer  hesitated,  but  at  length  remarked :  "  I 
should  do  so  cheerfully,  sir,  having  myself  every  con- 
fidence in  your  honor ;  but  I  have  been  counselled  that 
I  shall  be  held  rigidly  responsible  unless  the  levy  is 
at  once  made,  as  some  reason  exists  for  suspecting 
that  your  son  will  be  employed  to  run  the  negroes  to 
Texas." 

"  By  whom,  sir,  has  this  intimation  been  given  ?" 

"  By  Mr.  Skinflint,  acting  for  Ingelhart  and 
Cripps." 

"  The  scoundrel !  But  I  have  no  more  to  say. 
Make  your  levy." 

The  negroes  were  by  this  time  assembled,  and  list- 
ening with  eager  anxiety. 

"  You  must  go,  my  people,"  said  the  proprietor, 
addressing  them  with  a  voice  which  his  emotions  hardly 
suffered  to  be  articulate  ;  "  you  must  go,  I  cannot 
help  it.  I  would  have  saved  you,  but  cannot.  I  have 
done  for  you  all  I  could;  I  can  do  no  more !" 


416  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

He  turned  away  to  conceal  his  emotion,  and  hurried 
into  the  neighboring  woods.  The  strong  man  wept 
like  a  child  as  the  loud  outcries  and  lamentations  of 
the  slaves  still  pursued  him.  He  had  been  to  them 
a  father  and  a  benefactor,  had  watched  them  in  sick- 
ness, and  indulged  them  with  moderate  tasks  when 
well.  As  he  thought  upon  the  parting,  he  recovered 
all  his  strength.  He  came  forth,  and  said  to  the 
sheriff:  "  You  will  bring  them  up  to  the  house  ?" 

"Why,  sir,"  said  the  officer,  with  considerate  sen- 
sibility, "  I  had  proposed  taking  them  through  the 
woods.  It  would  mortify  you  before  your  guests." 

"I  thank  you,  sir,"  was  the  respectful  but  proud 
answer ;  "I  thank  you,  but  I  must  request  that  you 
will  bring  them  to  the  dwelling  before  you  depart.  I 
have  something  to  bestow  upon  them.  My  guests  will 
know  all  before  long,  and  may  as  well  hear  it  at  once. 

The  negroes  were  brought  accordingly. 

"You  see,  my  friends,  I  have  some  troubles  for  my 
Christmas.  They  are  rather  new  to  me  in  my  old 
age,  but  it  is  probable  that  I  shall  become  familiar 
with  them  before  I  die." 

Something  more  was  said,  enough  to  show  that 
our  proprietor,  in  his  unaffected  grief,  had  lost  no- 
thing of  his  manliness.  He  proceeded  to  open  the 
cases  in  which  the  Christmas  presents  were  kept. 
These  were  not  to  have  been  given  till  the  ensuing 
day,  but  this  delay  would  have  deprived  the  Butler 
negroes  of  their  share  of  gifts.  With  hasty  hand  our 
proprietor  bestowed  his  wares. 

"Now  take  them,  Mr.  Sheriff,  as  quickly  as  you 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  417 

please,  so  that  our  young  people  may  not  see  them. 
They  are  down  the  road,  and  if  you  pursue  that  path, 
you  will  escape  them.  Good-morning,  sir,  good-morn- 
ing," and  the  speaker  retired  among  his  guests.  He 
maintained  his  courage  manfully,  was  once  more  the 
courtly  and  considerate  host,  still  solicitous  of  the 
wants  and  wishes  of  the  meanest,  until,  some  two 
hours  having  elapsed,  an  uproar  without  drew  atten- 
tion to  the  windows.  What  was  the  surprise  of  Col. 
Openheart  to  see  all  the  negroes  returned,  and  to 
find  them  quite  clamorous  in  the  publication  of  their 
delight  that  they  were  not  to  lose  their  present  mas- 
ter. One  of  their  number  presented  himself  with  a 
letter,  which  our  proprietor  opened  with  no  little 
curiosity,  for  as  yet  nothing  had  been  got  from  the 
negroes,  by  reason  of  the  multitude  of  voices,  which 
threw  any  or  much  light  upon  the  mystery.  The 
letter  was  from  young  Berkshire.  We  give  it  without 
curtailment. 

"DEAR  SIR:  Meeting  with  the  sheriff,  and  being 
in  want  of  a  sufficient  force  for  my  Cedar  Island 
plantation,  I  have  ventured  to  assume  your  bond, 
with  interest,  being  perfectly  satisfied  to  pay  the 
same  price  for  the  negroes  at  which  you  bought 
them.  As  I  hold  them  to  be  amply  worth  the 
amount,  I  leave  it  entirely  with  yourself  to  retain 
them,  if  you  please,  paying  me  at  your  leisure ; 
though  I  should  prefer  to  have  them,  on  my  assump- 
tion of  your  several  responsibilities  in  regard  to  this 
property.  Whatever  may  be  your  decision,  which 


418 

you  can  make  at  your  leisure,  it  will  at  least  be  pro- 
per that  they  should  remain  in  your  keeping  until 
after  the  holidays.  Very  faithfully,  and  with  great 
respect,  I  am,  my  dear  sir, 

"Your  obliged  friend  and  servant, 

"FERGUS  M.  BERKSHIRE." 

Colonel  Openheart  had  not  a  word  to  say.  The 
act  was  so  handsome,  that  he  at  once  gave  the  letter 
into  the  hands  of  old  Kinsale,  who  read  it  twice 
aloud  to  the  company.  The  proprietor  went  out  to 
the  negroes,  and  sent  them  back  happy  to  their  habi- 
tations. The  young  people  soon  after  made  their 
appearance.  They  had  heard  something  of  the  mat- 
ter, and  Edward  Openheart,  as  soon  as  all  the  facts 
were  made  known  to  him,  at  once  rode  over  to  Berk- 
shire's to  give  him  his  own  and  the  thanks  of  the 
family. 

"Tell  him,  Ned,  that  he  shall  have  the  negroes, 
and  tell  him  what  you  please  besides,  from  your  own 
heart." 

Such  was  all  the  message  of  the  father.  Berk- 
shire looked  somewhat  anxious  when  the  young  man 
paused. 

"Do  you  bring  any  letter,  Ned?" 

"No." 

"No  message  from  anybody?" 

"None  but  that  from  my  father.  What  do  you 
expect?" 

"Nay,  never  mind;  you  wTill  hear  soon  enough." 

The  young  man  seemed  dull  and  disappointed,  and 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  419 

was  not  easily  persuaded  to  give  a  detailed  account 
of  his  fortunate  interposition  to  arrest  the  departure 
of  the  sheriff  with  the  property.  His  narrative  was 
briefly  to  the  effect  that,  having  occasion  to  ride  a 
few  miles  up  the  road,  he  had  suddenly,  on  his  re- 
turn, encountered  the  troop,  with  the  sheriff  and 
Skinflint  at  their  head.  The  former  had  been  sum- 
moned to  the  house  of  the  latter,  where  he  had 
stayed  the  last  night,  and  they  had  gone  out  together 
the  next  day  on  their  official  mission  immediately 
after  breakfast,  Skinflint  waiting  some  four  miles  off 
for  the  return  of  the  officer.  He  had  timed  his  pro- 
ceedings with  the  basest  cunning  and  malevolence. 
He  knew  that  "Maize-in-milk"  was  crowded  with 
guests  and  neighbors,  and  that  the  pride  of  the  pro- 
prietor would  be  touched  to  the  quick  by  such  a 
humiliating  exposure  as  that  which  he  meditated. 
He  had  not  anticipated  the  issue.  Fergus  Berkshire 
met  the  party  even  while  Skinflint  was  receiving  from 
the  sheriff  a  description  of  what  had  taken  place. 
The  exulting  grin  had  not  passed  from  his  features  as 
Fergus  drew  nigh.  A  few  words  sufficed  to  put  him 
in  possession  of  all  the  facts. 

"I  will  assume  this  obligation,"  he  said  to  the 
officer,  by  whom  he  was  well  known. 

"Costs,  interest,  &c.?"  said  Skinflint. 

"I  will  assume  them  all." 

"It  must  be  in  writing,"  muttered  Skinflint. 

"Very  good,  sir." 

The  sheriff  produced  the  papers  with  which  the 
providence  of  the  lawyer  had  furnished  him,  and  a 


420  MAIZE  IN  MILK; 

pocket-inkstand-and  pen  enabled  Berkshire  to  pre- 
pare and  sign  an  adequate  obligation,  under  the  in- 
structions of  Skinflint  himself,  with  which  he  had 
to  confess  himself  satisfied.  No  unnecessary  words 
passed  between  the  parties. 

"Go  home  to  your  master,  good  people,"  said 
Berkshire  to  the  negroes.  The  sheriff  he  asked  to 
dine  with  him ;  to  Skinflint  he  bowed,  and  bade  good- 
morning. 

"  The  rascal !"  exclaimed  Ned  Openheart ;  "  if  I 
had  him  under  my  horsewhip  !  But,  dear  Fergus, 
you  will  go  back  with  me  to  '  Maize-in-milk  ?"' 

"  Not  to-day,  Ned,"  said  the  other,  somewhat 
sadly. 

"  To-night,  then?" 

"  No ;  you  must  excuse  me,  but  I  have  good  reasons 
for  not  visiting  your  house  to-day." 

"  Pshaw  !  you  fear  that  we  shall  be  thanking  you, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  but  I  promise  you  on  my 
honor  we  shall  say  nothing  about  it." 

Berkshire  was  firm,  and  Ned  rode  away,  somewhat 
wondering  what  had  so  suddenly  come  over  the  fellow. 
The  mystery  was  explained  as  soon  as  he  got  home. 
Sweet  Bessy  Clinton  had  seized  the  first  moment, 
when  she  could  divert  her  father  from  his  guests,  to 
place  before  his  eyes  a  written  proposal  from  Fergus 
Berkshire  for  her  hand,  and  to  throw  herself  in  tear- 
ful silence  upon  the  old  man's  neck. 

"  And  when  did  you  get  this,  Bessy  Clinton?" 

"  Last  night,  sir." 

"And  what  do  you  say,  Bessy  ?" 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY  OF  THE  SOUTH.  421 

"  Oh,  father,  I  do  think  Mr.  Berkshire  is  an  honor- 
able gentleman." 

"I  agree  with  you,  Bessy;  and  were  I  you,  I  would 
certainly  accept  his  offer." 

"  Thanks,  dear  father,  thanks." 

"  Well,  my  child,  go  and  write  to  him  yourself. 
He  deserves  it." 

Fergus  Berkshire  did  come  to  "  Maize-in-milk"  that 
night. 

If  Richard  Skinflint  found  himself  discomfited  so 
unexpectedly  that  day,  the  next,  which  was  Christmas, 
brought  him  new  sources  of  disquiet,  and  new  mortifica- 
tions, in  a  communication  from  Mrs.  St.  Glair,  advising 
him  that  her  niece  had  accepted  the  hand  of  Mr.  Ed- 
ward Openheart,  and  that  the  marriage  was  arranged  to 
take  place  the  ensuing  May.  "  As  this  event,  "said  the 
letter,  "is  the  contingency  upon  which  her  minority 
determines,  and  as  I  have  yielded  my  consent  to  the 
contract,  which  was  the  sole  condition  coupled  with 
this  contingency,  it  will  be  necessary  that  Messrs. 
Ingelhart  and  Cripps  should  be  prepared  for  the  set- 
tlement with  the  future  protector  of  the  heiress  in 
anticipation  of  the  expected  event." 

Skinflint  did  not  sleep  that  night — nor,  for  that 
matter,  did  several  of  our  parties ;  but  the  provocation 
to  wakefulness  among  them  was  the  result  of  very  dif- 
ferent feelings.  At  "  Maize-in-milk"  there  was  now  no 
check  to  the  happiness  of  all  the  circle.  The  revolu- 
tion was  complete.  The  horizon  was  no  longer  over- 
cast. The  inoon  and  stars  were  all  out.  Instead  of 
the  shrieks  of  the  owl,  a  mock-bird  sang  at  the  window, 
36 


422  MAIZE  IN  MILK. 

and  the  cheek  of  our  proprietor  grew  warm,  and  his 
face  lightened  as  the  several  couples  wheeled  gayly 
in  the  great  hall  in  the  mazes  of  the  dance ;  the  tear 
of  joy  gathered  brightly  in  his  eye,  and  he  murmured 
to  his  placid  spouse,  half  unconsciously,  "  Thank 
God,  it  is  a  happy  Christmas  after  all !" 


THE    END. 


,•  /  7  - 


' 


* 


*• 


L.  f> 


*** 


*>•"•*• 


V  "•*• 


i 


*'* 


14 


TT 


SE 


cy 

f  WORKS 


OF  WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS. 


Uniform  Edition,  12mo,    Illustrated  by  Barley, 

PRICE     SI. *25     EACH. 

REVOLUTIONARY   TALES. 

I.— THE  PARTISAN.     A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  REVOU-HON. 
II.  —  MELLICHAMPE;  A  LEGEND  OF  THK  SANTEE. 
III.  — KATHARINE  WALTON;    OR,  THE  REBEL  OF  DORCHESTER. 
IV.— THE  SCOUT;  OH,  THE  BLACK  RFDERS  OF  THK  CONGAREK. 
V. -THE  FORAYERS;  OR,  THE  RAID  OF  THK  DOG-DAYS. 
VI.—  EUTAW.     A  SEO.UEL  TO  THE  FORAYKRS. 
VII. —  WOODCRAFT;  OR,  THE  HAWKS  ABOTT  THE  DOVECOTE. 

BOKDKIi    ROMANCES    OF    THE   SOUTH. 

VIII.— GUY  RIVERS.     A  TALE  OF  GEORGIA. 
IX.— RICHARD  HURDIS.     A  TALE  OF  ALABAMA. 
X.— BORDER  BEAGLES.     A  TALE  OF  MISSISSIPPI. 
XL  —  CHARLEMONT.     A  TALK  OF  KEMI<  KY. 
XII.—  BEAUCHAMPE;  OR,  THE  KKNTKKY  TRAGEDY. 
XIIL— CONFESSION;  OK,  THE   BLIND  HEART. 


XIV.  — THE  CASSIQUK  OF'KIAWAH.     A  COLONIAL 
XV.— THE  YEMASSEE.     A  ROMANCE  OF  SOUTH  CAROLINA. 
XVL— SOUTHWARD,  HO!     A  SPELL  OF  SINSHINK. 
XVII.  —  THE  WIGWAM  AND  CABIN. 

XVIIL— VASCONSELOS.     A  ROMANCE  OF  THK  NEW  WOULD. 
XIX.— CARL  WERNER  AND  OTHER  STORIES. 
XX. —  POEMS,  i  DESCRIPTIVE,  DRAMATIC,   LEGENDARY  AND 
XXL— POEMS.  \         CONTEMPLATIVE 
With  a  PORTRAIT  on  Steel.     2  volumes,  IrJmo.  doth.     Prire  $2.50. 

HISTORIES    or    THK   SOUTH. 

XXIL— HISTORY  OF  SOUTH  CAROLINA. 
XXIII.— LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  MARION. 
XXIV.— LIFE  OF  GENERAL  GREENE. 


